Pretending To Live
by UrbanRosefall
Summary: Time and Fate are opposing forces, each seeking to usurp the other in their fight for dominance. Then Fate retaliates by forcing a new pawn into their game...
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **Nope, don't own it. Promise.

**A/N: **This is actually the ninth chapter I've written for this story, I just wrote the prologue after I finished writing the eighth. See next chap for A/N!

**Pretending To Live**

* * *

**Prologue**

_Move._

My torn and battered sneakers slipped on the cold marble staircase, making me stumble into a small group of twittering, black clad people. Ignoring the stony looks I received, I pushed them roughly out of the way and fought breath after breath, trying to keep myself upright.

_Move, dammit!_

I was slowing down, I knew. It felt like I was running through a vat of wet cement, every step somehow clinging onto the hard surface of the ground: a scene from my very worst nightmares. Each and every individual muscle in my legs was crying, begging for surcease...it stung my bloated pride more than I could say to realize that I was crying too.

Sweat beaded across my forehead as I grit my teeth and through sheer willpower staggered forward another few steps.

What was I doing? What was I _doing_? I was truly a fool, like he had said. I could not change _anything_, I couldn't just _stay here—_

_Focus,_ I thought. _Focus is the key...focus on anything...the ground! The walls, the sky..._

The pulse ran through my shaking body again, and I fought it off, concentrating instead on the ground beneath my feet, the place I was in, the _time_ I was in.

One of my legs gave out then, as though part of a marionette whose strings had gone slack and I collapsed with it, snapping my head painfully against the stone wall behind me. My hands were shaking, trembling, though not from fear.

Salt exploded in my mouth; red stained my lips and then hands.

I was splitting at the seams, like flimsy burlap sack made frail from overuse. This was it.

It was almost insulting to realize that there were really only a few minutes left, that what I had been counting were not hours, but in fact, minutes. Time stood still for me, now. I was out of His authority.

_I had been used. _

And though I was dying, this small, insignificant thought managed to kindle the small spark of rebellion inside me that I thought had been crushed, stamped out long ago. Yes, this was it. For me.

Only for me.

As I reached into my robes to take hold of the item that had been the cause of all of this, the cause of _everything_, and brought it out to clench tightly in my fist, the resonating gongs of the clocktower boomed mockingly in my ears.

**A/N: Yep, the prologue. Changed a few times...hope you enjoy the rest of the story! Please understand also that this story has a real **_**plot**_** that I plan to stick to, and is hopefully not some shameless self-insert...**

**It's an adventure story, after all. **


	2. Time

**Disclaimer:**I'm too poor to own Harry Potter.

**A/N:** My first fanfic! I honestly hope you enjoy; I've got everything planned out.

Review!

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 1: Time**

_'Harry's scar had not pained him for nineteen years._

_All was well.'_

Rubbing my eyes tiredly, I closed the book in my hands and tossed it on the sheets next to me, yawning_._ This was the nth time I'd stayed up well into the hours of the morning, just reading. I didn't even like books.

I put my arms behind my head and stared at the ceiling, examining the familiar green swirls of the hideous wallpaper that covered its surface. It was my friend that had suggested the series to me, had begged me, forced me, coerced and threatened me to read it. So I did.

I liked it. What wasn't there to like? Kid finds out he's a wizard, gets sent off to some school somewhere to learn magic. It was nice.

My eyelids fluttered shut; my mouth stretched as wide as it could go as I yawned again. And then I drifted off to sleep, curled underneath the mound of blankets piled haphazardly around me.

**Snip.**

* * *

_Time._

Time can be explained in many ways.

A mathematician will tell you how to count the number of seconds in a minute, minutes in an hour, hours in a day.

A physics professor will explain time in relation to velocity, or perhaps speed or distance.

Time equals distance divided by speed.

A watchmaker will explain the mechanics of the devices that record it-how the gears are made to move in perfect synchronization with each other, what materials give more accurate vibrations in order for the mechanism to work.

Time is something that is constantly measured and that we always seem to never have enough of.

Time is something that governs our whole lives; each tick of each passing second is another moment of life stolen.

Time is irreplaceable.

Time is unceasing.

And time is relentless.

The grains of the hourglass do not rise. They fall, and they have been since the dawn of its existence. The Keeper of Time knew this, and he also knew that it was not something to be tampered with.

The Keeper saw what no human being or creature of the earth could see- the invisible, cobweb-like strands that stretched throughout space indefinitely and connected the lives of those who were bonded. Thin and wavering, as delicate as the slightest strand of silk, but infinitely stronger than any metal to be found in the universe, these strands represented Time itself, and they bonded those meant to be present in each other's lives together in an unbreakable web of tangled circumstances.

The Keeper scoffed at the human term 'coincidence'. There was none.

People, places, events happened because Time had dictated it, had spun its cocoon around the partakers and had sealed their Fate.

Time was inescapable and unchangeable. But something had gone wrong.

The Keeper stopped.

And being Time's guardian, caused that to stop as well.

This was a minor situation, usually occurring maybe once or twice every thousand years. The Keeper sometimes paused the grains of Time for a moment or so, to double check the Strands.

Normally, everything would be fine, and Time would resume once more.

But this August 23rd 2010 was not a normal day.

The Keeper followed a particular Strand, an extraordinarily fine one, almost invisible to even the Keeper himself. This strand was more chaotic than most- usually the Strands flowed in a smooth curve, gracefully entwining around those connected, or who would soon be connected, to the owner of the Strand.

This one, however, was completely haywire.

It seemed to carry on forever, often zigzagging in a certain direction before hurtling back the other way and was decidedly uncertain- out of control, as if it was not sure who to be linked to.

It belonged to a sixteen year old orphan named Ariadne de Lioncourt, currently sleeping in her bed at 4:43 am.

Yet that was not the strange part.

The Lord Keeper and Master of Time had followed the Strand to find that it had been severed halfway through.

And for the first time in his long, long existence, the Keeper was afraid.

Never before had something like this happened. The consequences were virtually unknown, unchartered- Time did _not_ simply just _halt_ in the middle of someone's life. It was supposed to be linear, stretching on indefinitely, continuing until the end of Eternity and Space.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

* * *

'Ari! You'll be late!"

I jumped violently at the sound of my foster-mother's voice, and glanced at the analogue clock on my nightstand.

_The hell...?  
_Reaching for it, and turning it over in my hands, I tapped the front twice to try and get it going again. I couldn't, and the hands remained stuck at 4:43 am.

Cursing, I stumbled out of bed looking for the pair of jeans lying somewhere here on the floor that contained my mobile. Upon finding it, I shook out the tiny device from the back pocket, causing it to land unceremoniously on the floor, and picked it up, flipping it open to check the time.

It read 8:50.

Dropping it again in shock and muttering a few more choice expletives, I ran for the bathroom.

Twenty minutes, a broken toothbrush, several stubbed toes, and a few dozen more swear words later, I was sitting safely in the bus on my ride to school, which, the driver had so kindly informed me, I had been approximately 17 seconds away from missing.

I sighed and leaned my head back against my seat. I closed my eyes, on the verge of falling asleep once more when-

A sharp nudge in the arm closest to the empty seat beside me woke me up.

"Hi there," I muttered.

"Hey. Who shat on your sneakers?" My best and probably only friend Anna said as she collapsed in the seat next to me. I eyed her for a moment, hoping she didn't mean that literally.

I shrugged. "I had a bad dream. Hey, I finished that series, by the way..."

"Oh? And how was it?"

"I liked it," I said seriously. "It was funny."

"Funny? Is that really all you have to say?"

I smiled and turned my head to the side, watching the other cars go past in a blur of color. It looked surreal—but, then again, today was the day when everything became strange, out of touch to me. Today was August the 23rd. It was a date that to me was like a sucker punch; it hits you when you least expect it, and after it does you could only look back and exclaim, 'The _hell_?'

It wasn't just because that it was the anniversary of my parents' death. It was also because it was always, _always_ and without fail, one of the strangest days of the year.

Last year I had woken up to a black sky filled with stars, their cold fire glittering like diamonds. Which wouldn't have caught my attention...except for the fact that I was still in my bedroom when this had happened. I'd blinked and then they were gone.

The year before, I'd taken a stumble during class; when I had looked down, I saw not the wooden floor of my classroom, but a blanket of blue and violet flowers underneath my hands. And it felt so real—I could even smell that light, heady scent of pollen and dew. But the teacher's voice telling me to stop 'screwing around' shattered the illusion, and I was left with only the sting of the small splinters in my hands and my own bewilderment.

It wasn't always visual. When I was younger I used to hear people, just talking. It wasn't clear enough for me to discern the words—sometimes it sounded like they were only _hissing_ without drawing breath. But in the recent years, these strange commodities had become stronger, more vivid. More real.

With an effort, I forced myself to pay attention to the still nattering girl in front of me, pushing my worries away.

"—and I was all like, 'Come at me, bro!' and then he said—"

"Wait, what?"

"Oh, pay attention will you?" she said irritably. "I was talking about this incredibly rude fellow I met at the bus stop this morning—he asked me whether I saw—"

_Snip._

I jumped in my seat but forced a smile on my face at the girl who was now shooting me strange looks. "Yeah, I'm listening."

"Right—"

_Snip._ I felt my eye twitch in annoyance. So _that_ was going to be the punch today, huh? The sound of someone opening a pair of scissors, except at least a hundred times louder? Well, it wasn't as frightening as the past years', but it was certainly annoying.

I massaged my right arm absentmindedly as I tuned out the rest of my well meaning but talkative friend's words. _Snip. Snip. Snip._

I had that Algebra test today, too. How was I going to concentrate with _that_ ringing in my ears?

A tingling had begun to form in my right hand and I shook it out, thinking it was probably just pins and needles. But it grew stronger and became less of a tingle than a sharp and painful _tug._

"Ouch!" I said, staring at the offending appendage. Anna gave me a startled glance.

"What?"

"My arm...it's...," This time the pull was so strong I actually leapt to my feet, a surprised expression on my face as if wondering how I got there. And it was getting stronger...!

Shocked, I stared down at my arm. The punch had never gone on this long before, or had really physically affected me like this. It was never this persistent, either. This was different.

Impulsively, I got to my feet and yelled out, "My stop!" to the driver.

"Ari, what...?" _Snip_.

"Sorry An—I'll see you in school later, alright?"

_If it wants me out of the bus, I'm gone_, I thought as I ran helter skelter out of the vehicle. _This thing's persistent; it'd just keep at me until I did something._

This insane line of thought appeared to be correct; the moment my feet touched concrete, the phantom tugging stopped. I sighed, and kicked at the ground as I began to walk. I didn't exactly know where I was headed- no, forget that, I had absolutely no idea in hell where I was going, but I knew I was going the right way.

It was like- how could I explain it?- like a very, very, fragile thread was connecting me to the place where I was meant to be, and I followed its pull towards it. The whole time I walked, thoughts such as '_This is stupid_' and _'I'm gonna get mugged'_ ran through my head, occasionally drowned out by—

_Snip._

-well, that.

I found myself in a street that was a replica of all the others I'd walked past on my way here. Rows of apartment buildings lined up on the side of the road, worn down and dilapidated, the dark gray of the bricks of which it was made only a few shades darker than the sky above. It was utterly deserted, save for the occasional stray that lurked around the edges, and the lamp posts that adorned the streets were flickering on and off.

I drifted through it, taking all of this in.

I was very sure that this was the place I was meant to be in, but why? Why would someone- or something- want to take me to this dump?

The thread I had felt earlier had vanished now, leaving nothing but a dull knot of disappointment in my chest.

Sighing with annoyance, I stopped in the middle of the street.

_I can't believe I actually went out of my way just to see what that bloody noise was, _I thought irritably. _It could've been someone clipping their toenails for all I knew..._

I stopped my internal fuming for a second, putting my hands on my knees.

Did the air get...thinner, somehow?

The breath was whooshing in and out of my lungs, but I felt no satisfaction in the oxygen that rushed in. In fact, it was like I wasn't breathing at all. Gasping for air, I fell on my hands and knees, scraping my hands against the rough cement surface.

What was happening?

My entire body was shivering, wracked with violent, irregular shudders that shook my frame. I felt dizzy- bright, pulsing auras seemed to surround everything around me and I could taste the hot, metallic taste of blood coating the inside of my mouth. My whole form was vibrating, pulsing with a thrumming energy that seemed to originate from nowhere.

The world blurred in front of me and as I tumbled into darkness, drowning in my own blood, a sudden lance of pain shot directly into my heart.

I let out a sharp cry.

And then I vanished.

**A/N: Wow, I changed quite a lot of this chapter. But it fits the story much better now...*insert troll face here*. Review, my darlings!**


	3. Fate

**Disclaimer: **Still too poor...curse that JK Rowling

**A/N: **And here we meet people we actually recognize!

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 2: Fate**

Fate is a pretty interesting thing.

Often misunderstood as a form of confinement, a cage of sorts, it is one of the most liked and hated theories since its conception.

Fate directed your life, and Fate would end it.

The Threads of Fate ran entwined around the Strands of Time, and mostly, it ran according to the Strands' directions—after all, what is Fate but the inevitable outcome of your life over an extended period of Time?

Fate had always been dependent on Time, or at least, appeared so.

It had been this way for so long that even the Keeper had forgotten—that Fate was its own entity, and a _separate_ force—that it moved in _relation_ to Time rather than because of it, and that He alone controlled a person's future, or destiny, if you will.

_Snip_.

Until that day.

_Snip._

The Three Fates did not like being subordinate.

Depicted sometimes as young women, or as old crones in Greek mythology and art, the Fates were the forces that truly molded a person's life; they alone recorded the events that would ultimately lead to one's creation, or to one's demise.

Each Fate had a different responsibility—the First Fate drew out the life Thread, fabricated it, and brought it into existence.

The Second Fate measured the life Thread and decided the events that would occur throughout that person's life—it was this Fate that was always considered to be the most important.

But it was the Last Fate, the Third,that was the most feared.

The Third Fate, upon witnessing her sister's measurement of the thread, _cut it_, when it was the person's time to die, and ended them.

_Snip._

The Fates were patient. Although Time had been their so called 'Master' for many long years, they continued to wait until the Time was right before what they knew was The Keeper's eventual usurpation—they were the ones who had dictated it, after all.

And so they waited.

They waited until _her_ life Thread had been drawn and measured.

Death always brings new possibilities whenever it visits, although most people fail to see this. With death comes rebirth, and vice versa, and the cycle stretches on forever.

The Third Fate knew this, and as she cut off the unusual Thread of Fate that belonged to Ariadne de Lioncourt, she did it not with the intention of truly ending her, but with the knowledge that the girl would end up where she was required.

So, technically, on that chilly 23rd of August, Ari died.

_Snip_.

Kronos's silent scream of fury echoed throughout existence causing Time to shudder slightly; the Fates smiled in unison.

_Snip_.

In another world and another time, Ariadne opened her eyes.

_Snip._

And Ariadne began to scream as well.

* * *

"—somebody get the Headmaster—"

"—where in Merlin's most patched up pair of bloomers did she come from?"

"—does anyone recognize her-?"

Hot, salty liquid bubbled up in my throat, cutting off my air supply and clogging my nose. I tried to take a breath, but only succeeded in taking another lungful of the strange, sticky substance instead, and my head spun crazily.

I was ninety-eight percent sure I was choking.

"—damn, she's choking—"

_Thank you, Captain Obvious._

"—hang on—_Anapneo_!"

My throat cleared suddenly and I gasped, taking as many lungfuls of the cold, slightly musty air as my heaving chest would allow. It was dense, and tasted vaguely of mould, but it was oxygen to my starving brain, and I continued to suck in whooping gasps.

"—dammit, where _is_ that old crackpot—"

"Ron!" I heard a slight bossy sounding girl's voice say, shocked. The name dimly registered in my mind, but I pushed it away distractedly.

"What? Fine, sorry..."

My head was still spinning, but at least the thunderous roaring in my ears had quieted down some, although my head was still doing its best impression of a jackhammer.

_Hey, at least you actually still _have_ a head, right? _The part of me trying to be optimistic offered, and I growled at it mentally.

I felt something warm lay itself on my arm, and instinctively, I skidded backwards away from it, eyes flying open and snarling.

A line of fire ran through my back as I collided with something solid and heavy behind me, but I ignored it, focusing my attention to the thin, palish boy in front of me who wore an expression that was a strange mixture of wariness and concern.

He had deep, inky black hair that seemed to stick up in all directions, as though each lock was its own appendage, and flopped especially at the front, covering his forehead. His eyes were a dark, brilliant forest green, partially hidden by a set of round spectacles that held a slight dent at the bridge, as though it had been broken before.

I let my eyes dart around my surroundings once I'd looked at his face for long enough—I appeared to be in a large, extremely dusty living room, filled with what seemed to be antique furniture that was slightly moth-eaten, and whose colors were undistinguishable by the thick, grey layer of grime that covered it. Light was provided by an old-fashioned chandelier above my head—the kind with beeswax candlesticks on it—and the carpet on which I was currently positioned was thick with dust.

I sneezed three or four times, much to the green-eyed boy's surprise—honestly, what did he expect—and when I opened my eyes I was faced with the sudden and mortifying realization that this random boy and I were not the only people in the room.

Behind him were around six or seven people whose expressions ranged from anger (in the case of the sallow-faced man at the front with the particularly greasy curtains of hair) to polite interest (the dirty-blonde haired girl with what seemed to be vegetables growing out of her ears).

It felt...odd.

I'd never seen any of them before in my life, and yet I felt an unpleasant sense of lingering familiarity the more I looked on, as if I'd known them before.

But first thing's first: where was I?

"Who-who—"My throat appeared to still be raw from my asphyxiating activities, and it took a few tries before I could finally force the words out of my mouth.

"Who are you?" I addressed the green-eyed boy in front of me.

Said eyes widened infinitesimally at my question and his expression morphed into one of disbelieving incredulity. "You don't know me?"

I stared at him blankly. _Wha..?_ "Am I supposed to?"

The boy just stared at me for a second, shock flitting across his features as he shook his head a few times uncomprehendingly, and he opened his mouth to say more but was interrupted by the sallow-faced man I had noticed earlier.

"Obviously, Potter, she is lying. Your self-proclaimed celebrity status," he sneered the last part, his cold eyes glinting with barely concealed malice as he looked me over, "is enough to ensure that all of your _great deeds_ are not unheard of, willingly or no."

The green-eyed boy's eyes darkened as he heard this, and he swivelled around on the spot, not getting up, to face the man.

His equally acerbic reply was missed, however, as I struggled to digest the new information given by the man—who, now that I mulled it over, reminded me irresistibly of a sort of overgrown vulture-bat creature.

The boy in front of me was somehow famous; there was no doubt about that. And yet, I had never seen him anywhere in my entire life—and I was pretty sure I would've remembered his unusual eyes.

What, was he some sort of teenage icon? That _would_ explain how I'd managed to miss him, and his considerable surprise once he discovered that.

He didn't _seem _like the conceited type, though...

And the Batman (who I'd fondly dubbed in my mind), I could practically _taste_ the paranoia rolling off him in waves, but I'd given him no reason not to trust me, have I? Apart from break into his house unannounced, that is.

"—could be a spy for the Dark Lord—"

Their argument, which had steadily begun to increase in volume, broke into my thoughts; my ears pricked up.

"Wait, Dark Lord?"

The boy in front of me froze before slowly turning back around to face me, his face guarded.

"What Dark Lord?"

My voice was suddenly too loud for the room, and even my breathing seems to register in my mind as a shocked, disbelieving silence descended on us a few seconds later.

The slack jawed faces of the people in front of me were starting to unnerve me quite a lot, when finally, one of the people behind the green-eyed boy broke the silence.

"You can't be serious," a tall, gangly, ginger haired guy with a heavy smattering of freckles on his slightly gormless looking face said, aghast. "Where've you been, lately?"

I shrugged at him, not knowing what to reply.

I hear someone clear their throat awkwardly and I looked up to meet the emerald stare of the untidy-haired boy, whose inky hair color was so similar to mine. It took all of my strength not to look away as the passing survey lengthened into something longer—I had to show them that I was trustworthy, or at the very least, sane.

Finally, just when I couldn't take the intensity of his stare—of which he was seemingly unaware of—any longer, he broke the moment.

"Who are you?" he murmured carefully into the foot- gap between our faces.

Just as I was about to reply, the door (which I hadn't noticed earlier, or I would have gone barrelling through it long ago) flew open, and I flinched at the sudden interruption.

"Ah, there you are Miss de Lioncourt!"

This time it was my turn for my jaw to hit the ground. For in front of me, was one of the most unusual looking figures I'd ever seen.

The man was majestically tall, with unbelievably long, flowing white hair and beard (which he had appeared to have tucked into his belt).

A pair of crescent shaped- glasses rested on his slightly crooked nose, and behind them, the kindest, bluest, most..._sparkly_ eyes I'd ever seen. The man simply radiated sheer power, it was almost _tangible_, and yet it was dampened down by something else, I sensed...humility?

He was looking down at me, and in his eyes I saw both happiness and concern for me, _me,_ and my throat constricted—how long had it been since I'd been looked at like that? My foster parents, nice as they were, sometimes attempted to pull that kind of stuff on me, but it didn't have the same genuinely real kindness, or love in it. More like...as sense of duty, I suppose. Pity, most likely.

But this man...

_He knew me_, I realized suddenly, but all I could do was stare dumbly at his impressive, powerful figure in contrast to my own, shivering form on the dusty, carpeted ground.

I felt safe.

The green eyed boy scrambled to his feet hurriedly, turning to face the man.

"Professor Dumbledore!"

My breath caught in my throat. _Did he just say...?_

No, I told myself. It's not possible...

The greasy haired man—who now seemed all too jarringly familiar to me—raised an eyebrow disbelievingly at the old man, who was still staring at me with gently twinkling blue eyes. "Do you know this person, Headmaster?" he asked, a slight sneer curving on his mouth as he glanced back disdainfully towards me.

The old man's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Indeed I do," he replied, striding further into the room, "but unfortunately, I cannot say the same for Miss de Lioncourt, here."

He knelt gracefully down in front of me, so that his lined face was in level with my own.

"Ari, my name is Professor Dumbledore," he said gently, peering at me over his glasses. "I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

I only blinked at him, my mouth opening and closing like a bad impersonation of a goldfish.

The man waited patiently for my temporarily speechlessness to subside (though I couldn't say the same thing for a certain other hook-nosed person in the room) before I finally gave my stuttering reply.

"Th—this can't be possible," I said, drawing a breath shakily and staring wide eyed into the cornflower blue eyes of the professor. "This isn't even _sane_. I—I—no. _No._ How—how is this even happening?"

Professor I-Refuse-To-Believe-That's-His-Real-Name surveyed me gravely through his crescent shaped spectacles.

"This is happening, my dear, simply as any other event occurs within the universe. You are meant to be here, Ari, and nothing and no one can change that, not even the boundaries of Time itself." He sighed heavily. "This is Fate."

"So... this...this is real?" I murmured almost to myself. "All of this?"

_Dumbledore_ nodded. "Yes," he said simply, and as my head spun with a thousand realizations and half-hidden truths, and I felt my body plummet to the ground, the last thing I saw before everything went black once more were the startled, emerald green eyes of none other than Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

* * *

Whispers echoed throughout the room, the ends of conversations fluttering at the edges of my consciousness like moths across paper.

"—been asleep for _ages_—c'mon Hermione, what happened, exactly?"

The sound of the familiar name stirred me back into reality, or fantasy, and, drowsily, I focused on the conversation, my eyes still closed.

"Well..."

There was a silence, and the quiet ticking of a grandfather clock seemed to fill the room before Hermione resumed.

"I don't understand it, Ginny," she said finally, sounding as though she was quite unwilling to admit that piece of information (which, I snickered in my mind, she probably _was_). "How could someone just _materialise_ out of nowhere? It goes against all the charms, all the laws of Dimension and Space that I've ever learnt, completely defies all the anti-Apparition wards the Order's set up around the place, and it is virtually _impossible_! For matter to form completely out of nothing, _from_ nothing..."

"Whoa, wait," Ginny interrupted, cutting her off. "From the beginning, Hermione."

I heard Hermione take deep breath, before starting, as if to let herself calm down first. "Alright."

"Harry, Ron, myself and a few others were scouting around, looking for an old book on wandless magic that Ron had accidentally Vanished, and we came across one of the locked rooms at the back of the house-"

"Wait, the room that no one could open?" Ginny asked.

"Yes, that one. Even Snape couldn't open it." Hermione replied seriously before continuing with her story. I was wide awake now, my ears pricked up and listening intently to their conversation. Though they were still talking in hushed whispers, the muted sound of their voices still cut through the dusty air, as clear as the peal of a bell.

"But when we came across it this time, the door was wide ajar. Just to be safe, Harry thought we should investigate the room—to check that nothing was hiding there, so people could use it for meetings and stuff.

"And then..."

She trailed off.

"And then?" Ginny pressed.

"And then she appeared," Hermione sighed and when I snuck a peek at her through my eyelids, I saw her tangling her hands through her wild frizz of curls frustratedly. "You'd think that the magic of the person who brought her here would at _least_ have left a trace..."

"Hang on a minute," interrupted Ginny, her fiery red hair bouncing as she shook her head, confused. "Did you just say 'the person who brought her here'?"

Hermione chewed on her lower lip nervously. "It's...a little theory that I have," she said evasively.

"Go on."

"Alright. Erm," she paused hesitantly before continuing. "I've been mulling over what just happened in my head, lately, and I think that I have managed to reach some kind of conclusion, based on the limited information we've been given."

Hermione's voice grew stronger and less uncertain the more she talked, I noticed.

"When _she_ arrived, she breached all the wards and defences set up around the place. Now, it takes a very, very powerful wizard to do that—which I doubt she is- and even then he would've needed the help of someone else."

"How powerful?" breathed Ginny.

"Someone on par with Dumbledore and Voldemort," Hermione stated gravely, and I heard Ginny's muted gasp.

"But then...is she...one of _them_?"

Hermione sighed. "Well see, that's the thing. It would be logical to assume that she _is_ a Death Eater, and that she was sent here to spy on the Order by V-Voldemort—the most logical of all my theories, in fact.

"But several things don't add up. If she _was_ the person who managed to break through the wards, it would still leave behind a trace of their own magic; it's one of Ravenhook's Laws of Manipulation. Even wizards like Dumbledore or Voldemort—

"Will you please stop saying that name?"

"—can't get rid of their magical trace completely—they can hide it, yes, to the very best of their ability so that it is nearly undetectable—but it would always remain.

"After Harry took the girl up here, I went back downstairs and performed every magical revealing charm that I knew on the entire room—and there was nothing. Absolutely nothing, Ginny. Which leads me to two choices: that she is extremely powerful, and probably should get shipped off to Azkaban immediately...or that she _was_ telling the truth, and that someone else sent her here."

"But why?" Ginny's awed whisper echoed round the room. "Why would someone do that?"

"I don't know. She seemed to have no idea where she was, who we were, or who _Harry_ was, and acted like she didn't even know there was a crazed Dark Lord running around rampant..."

"Herm!"

"—and she's _not_ a Muggle, I could feel her magical aura the moment she got here. So whoever, _whatever_ she is, she was brought here unwillingly...and for a reason."

**A/N: Okay, edited again. Tell me, what do you think? **


	4. Realizations

**Disclaimer: **Gah...only 50 cents in my piggy bank...curse that JK Rowling...

**A/N: **Edited, yet again. It seems I'll never be happy with my old chapters...

Enjoy!

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 3: Realizations**

The seconds ticked by as I lay in the bed, pondering Hermione's words.

_'...brought her here...for a reason..."_

What reason? And why me?

"Yeah, Herm...but why her?" Apparently Ginny was thinking along the same lines that I was. "I mean, come on, if someone were to go through all that trouble to send someone here, don't you think they'd send someone...well, a little more interesting?"

_That _must _hurt your feelings, Ari._

My eyes flew open; that voice...!

I heard a loud _bang_ and I sat up in bed just in time to see Ginny collapse against the ugly, old fashioned wallpaper covered wall on the other side of the room, her limbs sprawled out and her vivid red hair hanging about her face, like a marionette doll with broken strings.

_What the...?_

I searched my mind; there was no trace of those strange, hissing words that had echoed in my head. Had I imagined it?

"Wh-What just happened?" I asked Hermione, my voice a little hoarse from sleep. I cleared my throat. "What happened to her?" I jerked my head towards Ginny's slumped form.

The bushy haired witch's eyes were wide as she stared at me, her mouth open in a perfect 'O' and it was only then that I noticed she was holding a long, thin, piece of light brown wood shakily between her slender fingers, and that it was pointed directly at me.

A wand.

I froze.

_Sugarhoneyicedtea_, I cursed in my mind, but before I could've done anything that would've most likely have ended up with me having some pretty interesting appendages, the heavy wooden door next to Hermione burst open with a bang.

"Hermione!"  
Someone with wild, untidy jet-black black hair, similar to my own, actually, entered through the door, acid green eyes a-blazing, whipping out a wand similar to Hermione's, except darker in color.

"I heard a noise upstairs, what happened?" Harry Potter asked urgently, his attention focused entirely on her.

Hermione gulped, lowering her wand slightly. "She- ah, the girl, erm- Ginny..."

That was all Harry need to whip around to point the wand at me. "Where's Ginny?" he thundered, and I could feel something- something wild, I don't know how to explain it- crackling throughout the room.

Wordlessly, I pointed towards the corner in which Ginny was sprawled.

Harry's eyes widened when he saw her, and he moved quickly towards her still form, stowing away his wand in his pocket.

"Gin?" he asked her quietly. "Gin, you okay?"

'Cleansweep 407' was her only reply and she rolled over on to her side, snoring lightly.

I watched as Harry's shoulders seemed to slump with relief and I bit my lip. Damn. What an impression to make.

I must have made some sort of noise because he turned towards me then, emerald eyes betraying that all too familiar look of wariness once more.

"What spell did you use? " he asked me, and his hand drifted towards his pocket.

My eyebrows shot up past my hairline.

"Ah, what?" I elucidated articulately. "Um, I'm not a wizard..."

Harry blinked, his eyes widening as he realized the truth of my words.

"You're...you're a Muggle?" he asked me uncertainly, his wand hand lowering.

"Yeah..." I replied slowly, considering. "...or at least that's what I thought, before I heard..." I trailed off, looking meaningfully at the startled witch next to him.

"You heard that?" she asked incredulously, and I nodded.

A long silence followed.

"I think," Harry said, breaking the resulting silence, "that we should see Dumbledore."

* * *

The air was less musty in the hallways, and I breathed a relatively less dusty sigh of relief as I walked.

I still had no clue where I was, and I didn't think that Harry or Hermione would've told me anything about it if I asked, but I was content just examining the place.

It was definitely bigger than your average apartment studio, or building for that matter, and it was surprisingly cluttered, as if someone had taken a great deal of trouble to display their wealth for everyone to see. Slightly moth eaten antique furniture, heavy brass candlesticks, coatstands, tarnished silver goblets and platters, thick, dusty, book volumes stacked around every free corner, large, heavy looking ornate rugs strewn across the creaky wooden floor- all of these things just screamed money, and yet, they all held a feeling of age and weariness...as if Time itself, as well as their previous owners, had forgotten them.

I saw a sudden flurry of movement out of the corner of my right eye, behind one of the bookstacks, and I whipped around instinctively, accidentally running backwards into Harry who had been trailing behind me as I walked.

"Oof!"

"What is that?" I asked him, a little insensitive to the fact that he was rubbing his shin with a pained expression on his face.

"What's what?" he said, confused.

"Harry?" called Hermione's voice somewhere ahead of us- I couldn't see over yet another stack of books.

I gestured frantically towards the shadowy pile of objects in the corner.

"That!"

His brow furrowed as he followed the direction of my wildly gesticulating hands.

"Huh? Wha- Oh!" His brow cleared as he finally understood what I was referring to, and he straightened up abruptly. "Kreacher!" he called out.

My mouth fell open as there was a loud _crack!_ and something that resembled a large leathery pig with wings landed at my feet with a thud.

"Master called...?" It leered lecherously and then under its breath muttered something about not being worthy enough to 'massage the bunions of my Mistress'.

The gears whirred in my head at an alarming rate before sliding into place with a final 'click'.

I was, almost certainly, in Number 12 Grimmauld Place, the house belonging to Potter's godfather, Sirius Black. That would explain the wealth, and the amount of it, the musty odor that permeated the place as if it hadn't been used in a long time, and the stern warning that Potter had given me just before we left to see Dumbledore- 'whatever you do, don't touch anything'.

A sudden thrill of adrenaline passed through me as I suddenly realized that at least half the stuff- or most likely _all_ the stuff- was probably cursed and enchanted in some way.

I shuddered.

_And I bet most of those curses were set up to ensure that any Muggle who touched them would have a pretty 'interesting' reaction,_ I thought gravely.

So, if I were in Grimmauld Place, home of 'The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black', where most likely every Pureblood has walked through at one time or other, including Sirius' mother, then the thing speaking in low gravelly tones in front of me wearing what looked like to be a moldy grey washcloth was-

"Kreacher! What were you doing?" Harry asked the thing, scratching the back of his head.

Kreacher bowed deeply so that the wing-like growths protruding from the sides of his head (which I had figured out were in fact, _not_ wings, but _ears_) brushed the floor.

"Kreacher is sorry for spying on Master," it croaked raspily, and I just barely caught the word, 'not', "but Kreacher is wondering who is this person who is coming out of the magic room?"

I noticed throughout his speech that Kreacher's bulbous, bloodshot eyes seemed to return to me at every second word he uttered and I felt distinctly unnerved.

A crease formed between Harry's brows yet again as he regarded the creature in front of him with something close to disgust. "What're you talking about?" he asked the elf. "What room?"

Kreacher bowed deeply yet again. "Kreacher is meaning the sealed room at the back of this noble house of Kreacher's mistress, yes he is," he replied, nose still touching the floor.

"Sealed room? D'you mean the one at the back, the one that was opened yesterday?"

Kreacher didn't reply.

"Kreacher?"

"Perhaps Master does not know," Kreacher said finally, coming up from his bow (I noticed his face was now slightly pink, as if all the blood had flowed there after being in that position for an extended period of time). "Kreacher will leave now."

"Don't you dare-"

He made a move as if to grab the elf before he Disapparated, but he was too late.

_Crack._

Harry swore loudly, and caught himself before he fell.

"_-that son of a-"  
_I cleared my throat awkwardly and he stopped in the middle of what I was sure was a very informative description of Kreacher's heritage.

"Er," I said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable when he turned his blazing viridian eyes to me. "Was that...not a friend of yours?"

Harry snorted and stared at me, an expression of bitterness twisting his well formed features. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

A heavy silence fell once more and my brain whirred as we stood there.

If I _was_ truly in this...Harry Potter world, and if I _wasn't_ dreaming...then...where was I?

I mean, which part of the book?

I held a guess between either the fifth or the sixth, judging by the current environment, but...Harry normally didn't hate Kreacher this much, did he?

Unless...

I blinked as a wave of pity hit me like a slap in the face.

_Unless his godfather had already fallen through the Veil._

"What-What's your name?" he asked, after a time, obviously trying to distract himself from his less... pleasant memories. If I remembered correctly, this was also around the time his nightmares started happening again.

I actually wasn't expecting the question, though, and there was a slight pause before I answered as I tried to reassemble my thoughts.

"Ariadne," I said, meeting his eyes uncertainly. "But call me Ari."

"Ari," he said slowly, as if he was testing out the name. "My name's Harry." He smiled at the similar sound and held out his hand to me.

_I know!_ I wanted to tell him, but instead I just took his hand and shook it.

I was itching to look, to really _stare_ at him, to see if he really did have the famous lightning bolt scar, but his forehead was still carefully hidden by his slightly mussed fringe. Mentally, I shook my head. _Who am I kidding? This can't be happening. It's probably just the punch, or something._

"Er, so, we should probably head over to where Dumbledore is, Hermione- that's the girl who was with us earlier- is probably waiting for us up ahead." he said, beginning to pick his way around all the old junk around us once more.

I followed him, feeling a little unsure of what to say.

"D'you...d'you know Dumbledore? Well, I mean? He seems to know you," Harry said, as we neared a long hallway whose walls were covered with portraits- _moving_ portraits.

"Ah...No, not really," I said, not taking my eyes off a painting of an old, portly looking man who was rubbing his eyes irritably. "I'd never met him before, actually."

A slight crease formed between Harry's ink-dark eyebrows, and his expression turned into one of slight confusion.

"But...he knew your name?"

I turned away from the painting to look at him; he had voiced one of most pressing questions. "Yeah. I was hoping he'd explain that, when we talk to him."

We were now standing directly in front of a slightly worn mahogany door that was similar to the one Harry had burst through earlier, and I wondered if this is where Dumbledore was. If I listened carefully, I could just make out the sound of muffled voices, and with a sense of dread rising in my stomach, I wondered what lay in store for me now.

"Okay. This is it," Harry raised a closed fist to knock on the door, but he glanced at my face and the hand fell. "Ari?"

I flinched at the use of my name, and anxiously, I twisted my fingers together, not knowing what to say.

What would I find in there? Would I _like_ what I found?

Briefly, I considered walking away, or faking illness to get out of it, but...

_I have to know._

" Yeah," I said to Harry, releasing the breath I'd unconsciously been holding. "I'm here."

He gave me a surveying stare that, ridiculously, made the blood rush to my face, as if to make sure I was telling the truth, before he raised his hand yet again and lightly rapped the door.

Instantly, the voices on the other side went silent.

My panic rose.

"Enter," a light voice called out, and Harry pushed open the door.

* * *

The room was essentially the same as all the others; exquisitely grand, with heavy drapery (which was left open to let the weak morning sunlight stream in the room), musty, of course, and was as large as five of my bedrooms put together. In the middle, though, was a long oval table made of hard black wood, which made me suspect that this place was formerly used as a dining room, and around it were four people, Dumbledore included. The other three consisted of Hermione, the ginger haired guy who I now recognized to be Ron Weasley, and another person, a tall, pale skinned platinum-blonde boy who I'd never seen before.

His cold, silvery eyes seemed to watch me with distaste bordering on disgust, and my small panic attack was quickly diminished by my sudden flare of irritation.

I felt Harry stiffen beside me, and when I chanced a glance at his face, I saw that it mirrored the expression of the blonde boy, except it was directed at him.

The blonde raised an eyebrow; a challenge.

Before I could ponder on this any longer however, Dumbledore's calming, gentle voice cut into my mental detour.

'Ah, it's nice to see you are up gain, Ari!" he said happily, twiddling his thumbs at the head of the table. "You've rested well, I hope?"

I was more than a little unnerved with the unexpected familiarity evident in his voice and I simply nodded, my throat suddenly dry.

Dumbledore just smiled understandingly.

"Have a seat, you two. Lemon drop?"

After declining the small yellow candies Dumbledore kept in a bag next to him on the table, I followed Harry to a seat and sat down tentatively, clasping my hands underneath the table.

I squirmed when I realized that the arrogant boy sat directly across from me and I resisted the urge to flip him the bird.

"Now we can begin to discuss things in more detail; all of you need to know this." Dumbledore said, gazing over at everyone sternly, the light in his eyes dimming somewhat. "The situation at hand, of course, is quite unusual, but it is vital for you to listen, as it is more than possible that all your lives will depend on this someday."

I flinched at this, and I wasn't the only one. Across from me, the pale boy had frowned, drawing closer to the table.

"Sir, our lives? As in... Aside from the Dark Lord's attempts to _murder _us every few hours or so, there will be _more_ reasons to fear for our protection?" The boy asked incredulously, the blonde eyebrow going up again.

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Yes, Mr Malfoy," he said, and my brain exploded for the fifth time that day. "But only for you five."

Okay, now I was really starting to panic.

"Um, professor?" Hermione squeaked next to Ron, the taut line of her body every bit as tense as I was feeling, "what do you mean by that?"

Dumbledore smiled kindly at her, steepling his long fingers together on the table. "I'm just getting to that, Miss Granger. But first, of course, I have to address another issue at hand, and that is of the reason why Miss de Lioncourt is currently here with us today."

I started at my name, and I saw that the eyes of every person at the table, including Dumbledore, were directed at me.

"Ari, I understand you must be extremely confused about what is going on at the moment," he said, surveying me seriously, that look of concern flickering through his blue eyes yet again.

I looked down. "That's a bit of an understatement, sir," I mumbled, fiddling with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.

"Yes," he chuckled softly, and my eyes flickered towards him. "But finally, all will be explained.

"Tell me, my dear, do you remember what date it was when you...left?"

"Yeah," I said, a little puzzled at the question. "August 23rd. Yesterday."

_How could I possibly forget that date?_

Across from me, Malfoy rolled his eyes, and began to look around at the room boredly.

"Hmm...yes, but could you specify on what year it was?" Dumbledore clarified the question, his gaze becoming more piercing with every passing second.

This was really weird, I decided, and I answered the question. "2010," I said noncommittally.

Malfoy's head suddenly whipped sharply towards me; Harry's eyes widened, Hermione let out a gasp and Ron emitted that increasingly familiar shout of "Merlin's bloomers!"

I was confused. "Huh? What?"

"Did you say...2010?" Harry asked me slowly, his jade eyes glimmering with a strange light.

"Yes, so what?" I asked him, feeling slightly defensive.

"That's..." he trailed off, and he looked at Dumbledore, who was simply nodding his head, a thoughtful expression on his face."Hang on, you knew this, sir?"

"I did not know it; I was simply expecting it," was the reply and Harry stared, crestfallen, at the old man.

"Wait, what is it?" I said, looking around at everyone in the room, feeling completely out of it. "What was so wrong about what I just said?"

Silence fell across the room, and as Dumbledore was about to reply, a cold, slightly haughty voice beat him to the punch.

"It's 'wrong'," drawled Draco Malfoy, his stormy grey eyes suddenly very cold as he looked at me, "because, to my knowledge, the date currently is the 24th of August, 1997."

* * *

Time paused for me, halted in its tracks.

My mind was strangely blank, and a sense of numbness stole over my body as his words finally registered in my head.

_19...97._

"Excuse me?" I said to him, my voice sounding strangely detached, alien, even to me. "What was that, sorry?"

Malfoy watched me warily as my eyes became slightly unfocused; I was just a tad bit preoccupied with the repetitive exclamations of 'ohmyfreakingGod' in my mind. "The year is 1997." he stated again slowly, almost exaggeratedly, and clearly, the way someone would address a particularly dimwitted person. I probably would've been offended, too, had my current situation been completely different.

"Ah," I said, my mind still whirring disjointedly. "I see."

My face, had I seen it, was as blank as a sheet of white paper- inside, though, wave after wave of hysteria rose and fell until my mind became foggy and clouded with panic, and, underneath the table, my hands began to shake quietly in my lap.

Though the tremors were small, however, Harry, who was sitting beside me at the time, noticed them, and he began to subtly extend an arm towards me, as if to offer comfort- that is, until he remembered my reaction the last time he had tried to do that, and the arm fell.

My gratitude calmed me down somewhat.

"What does this mean, then, Professor?" I heard the anxious voice of Hermione ask, somewhere off to my left.

"It means, Miss Granger, that your theory is, in fact correct." Dumbledore said, offering her a reassuring smile. "Although, it is not a question of _who_ sent her here, but _what._

"I have lived for many years, Miss Granger, and yet, I do not recall a situation quite as unusual as this in my memory- with the exception perhaps, of Buglebert's invention of self-washing underwear- and I have pondered this many times over the years, searching for any clues, any _signs_..."

"But Professor, how did you know? That this would happen, I mean?"

Dumbledore hummed quietly. "Well, you see... Miss de Lioncourt and I have known each other for quite a while now, Hermione."

I looked up suddenly, startled. "Sir?"

"In fact, my dear," he said, now looking straight at me, "since 1944."

The breath fell out of me, flat. _Since when...?_ "Sir?" I asked again, my voice becoming slightly more strained.

He nodded gravely at me. "Yes, that is the truth, Ari. I first met you fifty-three years ago, when you burst dishevelledly through my classroom door, completely demolishing it in the process, might I add.

"In fact," he said, completely ignoring the looks of stunned disbelief I was giving him, "that was also when I first met everyone else in this room."

There was a silence, then voices ranging from confused to angry began to fill up the room and Dumbledore silenced us all with a burned and blackened hand.

"I ask you now not to interrupt me as I tell you this. It is a long story, and as I have said earlier, _vital _to your knowledge, should you choose to undertake the task I am about to give you. I also ask your _word_ not to divulge any of the information mentioned in this room to anyone, no matter how trustworthy you think they might be. Is that clear?" Dumbledore asked us, light facade gone, and expression of utter solemnity evident on his suddenly weary face.

He took the resulting silence we gave him as a yes, and he leaned forward, his cobalt blue eyes piercing into each and every one of us.

"I need you to go back in time."

**A/N: Hah, hope you liked that. Working on the next chap now, so review! Did you know that FF accepts Anonymous reviews? I didn't, so anyone, click that button! They give me inspiration...**


	5. Explanations and Deadlines

**Disclaimer:** I'm not cool enough to own Harry Potter. I am cool enough, however, to spend all my free time writing obsessively about JK's characters.

**A/N: **Okay, so…even though it seems AU now, just trust me when I say it fits the story.

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 4: Explanations and Deadlines**

'_I need you to go back in time.'_

Dumbledore took advantage of our sudden, shocked silence and began.

"These passing months, Voldemort has become increasingly powerful, gaining the alliances of the Dementors, the giants- you remember your fifth year, Harry- and I have recently received word of his attempts to instigate contact with the centaurs.

"At first I did not notice this atypical behaviour- as most of you know, it is not Voldemort's nature to form alliances- for I was quite preoccupied with matters of equally, if not greater importance."

Here Dumbledore drew up the midnight blue sleeve of his robe that had been covering the deformed appendage he had silenced us with earlier, and I felt Harry tense.

"This," he said, staring at his hand with a curious sort of fascination, "is the product of my endeavours."

The part of my brain that hadn't been turned into Elmer's Glue was busy translating what Dumbledore said. _Endeavours? Horcux-hunting, is that what he means? He'd found Gaunt's ring, then... the Second Hallow... the Resurrection Stone._

'Have any of you heard of the term 'Horcrux'?'

I watched as Hermione frowned as bit her lip thoughtfully, mulling it over. 'I...I think I've come across the term researching for a Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment, but there wasn't much on the subject.'

'No. I shouldn't think so,' Dumbledore replied kindly with a searching gaze. 'And I'd be shocked if there was.

'It's a very dark piece of magic, you see my dear, and very few wizards even choose to ever bring up the subject- a Horcrux, you see, is a part of a wizard's-or witch's- soul in a magical container.'

'A part of a soul?' Ron asked, both his eyebrows moving dangerously close to his hairline. 'What d'you mean by that, Professor?'

Dumbledore formed a bridge between his fingers on the desk as he surveyed everyone intently, his gaze lingering a little on Harry and I.

'I mean,' he said slowly, carefully, 'that- should they choose to- a witch or wizard can split their soul and store it somewhere that is separate from their body, as a sort of...backup should the original piece be destroyed.'

'Well, how do you destroy a piece, then?'

There was a short pause in the room.

'The Killing Curse, Ronald,' Hermione said finally, a strange look coming over her face. 'To destroy someone's soul... is to destroy the person himself.'

Ron's face paled. 'Blimey,' he whispered, horrified. 'So does that mean...that You Know Who...'

'Is the farthest anyone can get to immortal in this day and age, yes.' Dumbledore surmised, the lines on his face seeming deeper, as if they had been engraved there.

'Well, if he only made one, then there's still a chance, right?' Harry argued and I winced. 'We can still fight-'

'Yes that is true, if he had only made one.' Dumbledore cut in.

'Well, how many did he make, sir?' Hermione asked, frowning.

_Here we go, this is it,_ I thought.

'Seven.' Dumbledore answered, and immediately, the entire table burst into uproar.

'-he made_ seven_!'

'-bloody hell, how're we supposed to fight now-'

'-are you certain of this , Professor? Father didn't mention-'

'- could he split his soul into seven pieces-'

Dumbledore let them continue on for a while until the clamor began to rise, before he began speaking.

'It is true that Voldemort has made seven Horcruxes, and yes, Mr Malfoy, I_ am_ certain of my information. I have excellent contacts, you see.

'The pieces of Voldemort's soul have been hidden by himself and, until recently, I have made my priority to find and destroy as many of them as I can, in hopes of restoring Voldemort's mortality.'

'But sir, they could be anything!' Harry said, alarm evident in his expression and his hair even wilder than usual. Strangely, something about what he said struck a chord of familiarity in me._ I'd heard that somewhere before.._. 'They could be old tin cans, or, I dunno, empty potion bottles…?"

'You're thinking of Portkeys, Harry,' I said without thinking.

Harry looked at me confusedly, eyebrows drawn worriedly. 'What?'

I blinked. "Hm?"

I looked up towards the head of the table to see Dumbledore's half surprised half understanding expression, as if he _knew_ how I managed to steal his next words out of his mouth. _Oops._

'Erm, perhaps you should elaborate on that, Ari,' Dumbledore hurriedly supplied, obviously reading my mind and coming to my rescue.

I stared, flabbergasted, at him. "Uh...sure."

I cleared my throat self consciously as I faced everyone at the table,( not an easy thing to do when half the people there think you're some sort of deranged secret spy for a psychopath). 'Well...I guess since these...Horcruxes are pieces of Voldemort's- sorry, _You Know Who's_-' I quickly corrected myself upon seeing everyone but Harry and Dumbledore flinch at the name, '-soul, then he wouldn't very well just stick it in a- in a plastic bag or something would he? I mean, it's his soul, you know? He'd probably put it in somewhere that would mean a lot to him...that has a lot of history...' I trailed off, not knowing what to say next. I sounded like a complete idiot.

Most of the people at the table were shooting me strange looks now, and that was when I remembered that I wasn't even supposed to know this stuff, and I facepalmed mentally. _Nice._

'Exactly, Miss de Lioncourt, exactly.' Dumbledore didn't seem to mind my pitiful explanation, though, eyes twinkling (seriously, how does he do that?) from the head of the table. 'That is indeed correct. And I am pleased to say that I have more or less identified the objects that Voldemort is using. Do you remember Riddle's diary, in your second year, Harry?'

'Yeah, I do.' Harry's lips were pressed together in a thin line, and I noticed his eyes had darkened considerably at the memory. 'Wait- that was a Horcrux?'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Among others.' He began to list them, ticking a finger off as he called out the name of each one. 'The diary, the heirloom cup of Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem, Marvolo Gaunt's ring- which I am currently wearing- Nagini, Voldemort's snake and, lastly, Slytherin's locket. I myself have already destroyed one,' here Dumbledore lifted up the hand with the Resurrection Stone, and I heard Hermione gasp, '- and you, Harry, have destroyed another. However, as of now, it is no longer my goal to find and destroy- but rather, to save from destruction.'

_Save from destruction?_

'The last Horcrux that I mentioned, Slytherin's locket, played a significant part in Tom Riddle's later life in Hogwarts. Having procured it from a very old and very rich benefactor- who was quite a fan of Tom- named Hepzibah Smith during a house-call appointment at his part time job at Borgin & Burkes-'

'You Know Who worked at Borgin and Burkes?' Ron said, dumbfounded.

'- he resolved to unlock its secrets in its entirety- after all, it was, by all rights,_ his_.

'And so, he discovered the truth about the locket and its twin.'

My head snapped up. 'There was a second one?'

Dumbledore looked at me, and I felt distinctly uncomfortable, as if he was conducting an X-ray on the spot. 'Yes, Ari, there was indeed a second, and at a certain time during his penultimate year at Hogwarts, Tom Riddle had managed to acquire both.'

'Well, do you know where it is now, Professor?' Hermione asked, eyebrows drawing together as the wheels in her head spun at a manic rate, while I still struggled to process this new information. This... is _so_ not canon...

The old wizard sighed heavily. 'I am afraid I do not, Miss Granger, as the second locket disappeared from existence over half a century ago.

You see, back in the days of the Founders, when the school was relatively new, there had been much speculation about the relationship between Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw- certainly, he admired her for her wits and integrity, and she for his brilliant mind and cunning- but as to whether their association delved beyond the reaches of friendship was somewhat of a mystery to those who did not have, ah, certain privileges, shall we put it, that a Headmaster would .'

I suppressed a snigger at the thought of Dumbledore snooping around the school. I didn't fully succeed and Dumbledore caught my eye sheepishly at the head of the table.

'So...they were together?' Ron asked, his ears turning pink for some inexplicable reason, his eyes darting to where Hermione was sitting.

'Yes, they indeed were. And they were, as I recall, very much in love.

'Although, as Founders, they were responsible for the welfare of the school, and as you can imagine, this took up quite a large portion of their time. So much so that Slytherin created the twin lockets.

'The first locket, which he gave to Ravenclaw, was designed for the user to influence and bend time to their choosing, similar to these days' Time-Turners- you recall, Miss Granger- but infinitely more powerful. The locket, you see, did not merely transport the user to another time, but allowed them to manipulate it, to slow it down or speed it up, while they themselves remained unchanged- Slytherin created it so that he and Ravenclaw had more time for each other during the day.'

'And the second locket, sir?' Harry asked.

'Ah, yes. The second locket- which Slytherin kept for himself- had a very...different magic. I'm unsure as to whether he created it for Ravenclaw, perhaps, or simply for his own personal gain, it is hard to tell, but I _do_ know that it is probably one of the most dangerous items to ever be created in magical history.' He paused. 'Not coincidentally, this is the locket that Voldemort currently holds in his possession.'

'Bloody brilliant,' muttered Ron under his breath.

'What does it do, Professor?' Harry asked to my left, ignoring him.

Dumbledore, folded his long, thin fingers delicately on the table, an almost languid gesture.

'It reflects one's desires,' he said simply, looking around at all of us in the room.

There was a pause as everyone took a moment to absorb this unexpected piece of information, particularly me. Reflect one's desires? What, like the-

'Like the Mirror of Erised, sir?' Hermione asked almost eagerly, leaning forward.

'Mm...in a way, yes. It does display what the heart most truly wants, beyond our comprehension, but Slytherin also designed it to give him certain...advantages.

'It allowed the user to manipulate them as well.'

888

'As I have mentioned before, Voldemort's numbers have been increasing, as of late, and this normally wouldn't be of any new knowledge to myself, had I not noticed exactly what sort of people he had been recruiting.' Dumbledore listed the names, never taking his sapphire eyes of our captivated faces. 'The Bones', the Patils, the Boots- you may recognize these as the names of some of your Hogwarts classmates- the Macmillans, the Browns, the Bells. The list goes on.

'All of these families are deeply rooted in wizarding genealogy- in other words, they are considered to be 'purebloods', a typical reference. But what makes this quite strange, however, is the fact that none of these names have ever been associated with the Dark Arts before- and furthermore, they are not inclined to.'

'Well, couldn't they have been Imperiused or something?' Ron blurted out, his face screwed up with worry. 'I mean, it's happened before, hasn't it?'

"Yes, that is possible, but I believe that this is something much darker than the Imperius Curse, Mr Weasley .

'Do you recall a certain Knight Bus assistant, a Mr Shunpike?'

'Stan,' murmured Harry quietly next to me, and I remembered the name.

'He is currently wanted by the Ministry for being a Death Eater.' Dumbledore continued, and the result was like a bomb fell on the place.

'What?' Harry exploded, slamming his hands down on the table amidst the other indignant roars. 'Are they serious?'

'Wait, is he that bloke from the Quidditch World Cup, the guy who was going on about being the next Minister?' Ron asked from the other side of Harry, a slight look of puzzlement making its way across his freckly features. 'Him?'

'Yeah, him! What do they think they're doing? Harry said angrily, half-rising from his chair. 'Didn't they hear him at the World Cup? He was probably just trying to impress someone again; you don't take blokes like him seriously!'

Dumbledore watched us with a somber expression on his usually light face. 'I see you agree with my earlier thoughts on this subject. That is, until I learned from Kingsley that Mr Shunpike was actually found performing the Cruciatus Curse on a young Muggle couple- who later had to be Obliviated- at the time of his arrest.'

Everything seemed to freeze at his words. 'I don't believe it,' Harry said at last, breaking the sudden spell over the room. 'I _talked_ to Stan, he didn't seem evil then!'

'I know, Harry. Believe me, I do. Which is why, instead of being sent to Azkaban, Mr Shunpike is currently residing in St Mungo's, under the Order's protection and completely untouchable to the Ministry.' At this, Dumbledore's tired face broke out into a small, rather satisfied smile. 'As I've always said, I _do_ have quite excellent contacts.

'However, while in custody of the ward, there had been certain...reports about Mr Shunpike's behaviour, and strange ones at that. For instance, that he refuses to sleep, refuses to eat…does not respond to the Healers when spoken to…and has been found numeroud times mutilating his own skin, repeatedly muttering the words _kill me, my bus, mine, kill Ernie, kill me…_"

'...That's terrible,' whispered Hermione, her face an ashen grey. 'And...Voldemort's locket did this?'

'_Voldemort_ did this Miss Granger,' Dumbledore corrected her quietly. 'The locket is only a tool that he employs in order to get what he wants. It reflects your dreams, your hopes, your wants and twists it, deforms it in such a way that we are only left with the very bones of desire, of need, and we lose sight completely of what is most near and dear to our hearts... reduced to mere shadows of our former selves. How else would Voldemort have managed to get the giants, the _centaurs_—who are one of the most distrustful and sovereign creatures known to Wizarding kind—to side with him?'

'Was that what Slytherin intended, sir, when he made it?' Hermione asked, shocked.

'I do not think so. To be sure, he imbued it with powerful magic, his own, and gave the object numerous possibilities should its secrets ever be unlocked...but I believe it was not for this purpose that he designed it.

'The magic of the locket is utterly dependent on its owner's intentions, Miss Granger. This is all _Voldemort's_ doing, and it is best to remember that.' He said this not as a reprimand, but as a gentle reminder of the truth, though I couldn't help but notice the way his eyes lingered a little on me as he said this. Not to mention the over-emphasis of Voldemort's name.

'When did you find this out, sir?' Harry spoke up, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he leaned forward. 'I mean, about the lockets?'

Dumbledore sighed. 'Less than a month ago. I had been suspecting something odd about that Horcrux for quite some time, particularly after the incident with Mr Shunpike, but it was only until recently that my suspicions had been confirmed.'

He brought out a long light sienna wand from his pocket and, with a casual flick, produced two scraps of ragged yellow paper-_parchment_, sorry- one seemingly older and more worn out than the other, from thin air, which then fluttered gracefully into his open palm. I watched all of this with wonder and felt a rising excitement bubble up in the pit of my stomach. _Magic..._

Dumbledore held them delicately, carefully holding it as if the parchment would disintegrate at any moment. 'A few weeks ago, I journeyed into a certain cave that Tom Riddle had visited quite a number of times in his early childhood, after spending quite some time tracing the second locket- also his horcrux- to that area.

'With the aid of a certain Potions professor-' here I saw Malfoy, who had been silent for most of the discussion, inhale sharply. '-I managed to get through the...ah, obstacles that Voldemort had placed to guard his horcrux, without any permanent damage, and retrieved this,' Dumbledore held up his other hand, the burned one, up and I saw something small and gold glitter faintly, dangling off the end of a thin, tarnished chain. I cocked my head to one side. That wasn't Slytherin's locket...

'Is that it, Professor?' Ron asked eagerly, his blue eyes shining with excitement. 'Is that the second locket?'

'No,' Dumbledore said, and Ron's face fell. 'This is merely a decoy- and it is apparent from the note inside it that the person had failed to discover the true locket. I shall read it out to you now,' he said, and, looking at the smaller piece of parchment, began.

_'To whoever finds this,_

_I write in haste, so I offer you the extent of my knowledge about the item which you seek: it is not solely a Horcrux. Rather, something far more terrible._

_I do not know where the true Horcrux lies, but I know that the Dark Lord has deceived me yet again, and already I feel life's energy draining from my body as I write this._

_I leave this note, and its attachment, to whoever seeks it, in hopes that they will aid the Dark Lord's equal in his triumph, and that the He Who Must Not Be Named will be rendered mortal once more._

_R.A.B.'_

'RAB...' Hermione mused, absentmindedly chewing her thumbnail as she did so. 'Who's RAB?'

'When I touched the locket for the first time Miss Granger, I knew it had been false,' Dumbledore said softly, laying aside the parchment. 'And it was only further proved by the sudden mist that revealed the skeleton of RAB- or should I say _Regulus Arcturus Black_-' here Hermione gasped and Harry stiffened immeasurably beside me while Malfoy narrowed his steely eyes,'- at my feet, along with hundreds of others- most likely previous victims of Lord Voldemort.'

'Sirius' brother?' Hermione asked the wizard, honey brown eyes wide, like coins, and one hand partially raised to her lips, as if to cover her mouth in horror.

Dumbledore only nodded, carefully watching Harry, whose lips had tugged down into a small frown as he thought about this unexpected information. 'Yes. After finding the notes, and battling my way through more...obstacles that had been triggered upon the touching the locket, I managed to escape the cave upon which I then promptly Disapparated back to Hogwarts.

'However, my little trip wasn't entirely fruitless. My suspicions had been confirmed, by the other note found with RAB's letter.'

'What was it, Professor?' Harry asked the man quietly.

'The diary page of none other than Salazar Slytherin himself,' Dumbledore replied, and I heard Hermione's stifled gasp, 'which confirmed my fears.'

'Since Slytherin's writing had always been rather cramped, I will not read out the entire passage to you; this page should become readily available to you in the near future. However I will read out this, rather illuminating excerpt:

_...have been forced to leave Hogwarts, banished from my own home by the man whom I had once- yes, once- called 'friend'._

_I hold a dream, a dream that I know the others-not even Rowena, could possibly comprehend, but it has been eating at me, driving me mad with its ringing truth and shocking possibilities, that I begin to realize: I cannot ignore it any further. It has changed me, so much so that the reflection in the locket has changed also..._

_Hogwarts is my home, but I will not continue to live here as long as its magnificent halls of stone are soiled by the unworthy. Even if it means leaving _her.

_Since my duel with Godric, one which shook the very foundations of the castle, she has refused to speak to me. I do not pretend to wonder why. She has seen the true me, my true mind, and was repulsed by it. Did she really think I was to live in the steel container that served as my facade forever? No._

_If we must part so that I may bring my ideals into reality, then so be it. Fate has decided._

_I will go, but the locket I had created shall remain._

_This, of course, is not due to sentimental stupidity commonly felt, but because of the consequences that should befall all of us should I part the pair._

_The two are not meant to be used apart, bound by the most powerful chains of magic as they are, and even I do not wish to know what would occur, should it happen._

_Their magic is too strong, too connected with each other and the world, too unstable._

_I will not ask Rowena to relinquish hers, but I will leave my own in the only uncontaminated place left in the castle, the legacy I have left behind, unbeknownst to the other Founders._

_And there it will lie forever.'_

Dumbledore finished reading and he looked up, greeted by tense silence.

Everyone seemed to be preoccupied in their own thoughts, including me.

This was becoming far too complicated for my liking. I didn't even have a _clue _why I was here; why did I need to know this? This world wasn't mine.

'Professor...' Harry spoke up slowly, the crease between his raven brows becoming deeper, 'when Slytherin wrote_ the only uncontaminated place left in the castle_... was he talking about the Chamber of Secrets?'

Dumbledore inclined his head in the younger wizard's direction, and I witnessed Malfoy stiffen suddenly. 'Yes, indeed he was. But he made one fatal mistake, however, and that was to believe that he was the only one who would know about the Chamber.'

'Riddle,' Harry hissed quietly beside me, and I flinched a little.

'Tom Riddle discovered it in his fifth year at Hogwarts, as you already know, unleashing the Basilisk within on those he deemed, similar to Slytherin, were 'unworthy'.

'He continued to return to the Chamber frequently, in an effort to plumb its many secrets, and it was at the end of his fifth year, I believe, that he discovered Slytherin's locket inside.'

'And the locket that he took from Hepzibah Smith?' Harry asked.

'Was Ravenclaw's, and he procured this one during his summer before his sixth year.'

'But…she must've taken it away from Hogwarts, away from Slytherin's locket? What about the 'consequences' that Slytherin mentioned in his diary?'

Dumbledore steepled his hands on the table again. 'Ah, yes, that was what I wondered too, when I first found it. But I observed Slytherin used the phrase 'cannot be used apart' when he was writing about them, so I assume that if one were simply to have it in their possession, they will remain relatively unharmed.

'I believe that Ravenclaw most likely returned the locket back to Slytherin's descendants, when she could no longer bear its presence. Or, perhaps, asked someone else to do so.

'But never mind about that. The rest of the details concerning the location of the locket begin to become a little hazy after that, but what I _do _understand, however, is that it landed in the hands of Tom Riddle just before his sixth year.

'The year I hope to send you back to.'

My blood chilled at that last sentence for some inexplicable reason, and I felt shivers, like little fingers, running over my spine.

I'd forgotten about that request, so enraptured was I in this new world and story I had been introduced to. I'd forgotten that I wasn't even supposed to be here, like I was just listening to a dramatic reading of JK's book, and I lost myself in the storyline of intrigue, magic and danger.

But here, there was one difference.

Here, the danger was real.

'Why, sir?'

Malfoy, who had remained silent for the majority of the time spent in the room spoke up. "Why now?"

Dumbledore grew eerily silent, and a sudden tension erupted throughout the dining room; this was what we had been waiting for.

Wordlessly, the wizard raised his light hazel wand once more and swept it above him, drawing a wide arc in the air.

I watched wide eyed as the path following his wand turned into a blazing trail of crimson fire, crackling and leaping as it twisted , and so bright that it stung my eyes just to look at it.

Seemingly of their own accord, the flames spiraled downwards, coiling like a fiery rope around itself, and, as my eyes began to adjust to the light, forming a shape—an hourglass?

It was about three feet long, made of scarlet fire, and in the center, what seemed to be a thick, black substance—tar?—coiling and morphing inside, and dribbling densely into the second half of the glass.

It was the ugliest, most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

The hourglass hovered above us, in the center of the ebony table, its vivid vermilion flames casting an eerie red light over everyone in the room and giving the terrifying illusion of being bathed in blood.

"Because we are running out of time, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore replied, the only one of us unaffected. "The world is running out of time."

888

Colorless, spider-like hands stroked viridian scales, and a low, drawn out hiss echoed throughout the dark, frigid chamber as the gleaming silver hourglass hung in front of him, suspended in the air.

He could taste it; taste the scent of death.

"_Soon…"_

888

Dumbledore stood silent for a while in front of us.

"This hourglass," he said finally, "is something I created after I discovered the journal page of Slytherin. I surmised that since the two objects could not operate without the other's presence, that they drew the source of their magical energy from each other. But, if they were to be used as Voldemort is using them now… and seemingly without the other's presence as I am quite sure Ravenclaw's locket is not with him…then I assume they would draw upon the user's own magical energy. _Voldemort's_ energy."

He gestured towards the misshapen, distorted form in the center of the room. "I understand that it is supposed to sap your power almost instantly once you begin to use it… for Voldemort to have held out this long…is something quite considerable…

'I believe that it will have no effect upon the user of course, perhaps extensive fatigue, otherwise Tom, who is quite aware of this, would have refused to have used it—he values his life far too much. Or at least he is quite confident in his abilities to overcome the locket's power.

Instead, the locket, desperate to ensure its continued existence, will begin to draw upon the magical sources of all those it has been used upon—Muggle, wizard, human, or no.

And it will drain them fully, this time, and kill them."

_Oh God._

" But sir! V-Voldemort—he—how many..?"

"More than you will ever be aware of, Miss Granger. It will be the largest mass murder in both Wizarding and Muggle history."

Ron and Hermione looked sick, Harry, a strange mixture of distress and lividity, and even Malfoy had become a few shades paler.

"And the hourglass, sir?" I whispered past the thick, bitter taste of fear that lay on my tongue.

"It is but an estimate, based on the magical ability of a wizard, and his stamina. In this case, Voldemort's. How long he can continue to support the locket with his energy… before he runs out."

I found my eyes drawn to the top half of the hour glass, where the remaining black sludge was trickling thickly into the bottom container. There didn't seem to be much left… more than half of it seemed to be in the glass below…

Clearly everyone in the room was thinking along the same lines as I was; their gazes were fixed with a sort of perverse fascination at the object.

"How much longer?"

Harry voiced the question that we had all been dreading, had been too fearful to ask, the one that was lay on the tip of our tongues.

Dumbledore surveyed all of us, and this time I really did flinch; his vivid azure stare, tainted black by the red glow of the hourglass, conveyed a man haunted and tortured by himself, by his own memories.

"Until June the 16th, next year."

A pregnant silence hovered over each and every one of the people in the room. Part relief—there was still time—part terror—was it enough, though?—and part desperation began to wage war inside us.

_Less than ten months to go…_

"To stop this from happening, we need the locket's counterpart. We need the first locket. And this is why I am asking—I am _begging_—you to agree to this incredibly unjust, unfair and undeserved task that I am asking you to complete. To go back to 1944, when Tom Riddle first found Ravenclaw's locket, and bring it back to 1997."

"Why did you just tell us this now?" Malfoy asked suddenly, his normally cold voice low and husky. "Why not years ago, when..?"

_When we still had time_?

"Because we needed Ari," Dumbledore said, and my head snapped up so fast I heard a slight _crack_ at the back of my neck.

"What?" _What?_

Dumbledore sighed, and flicked his wand at the hourglass, and it faded away so that the room was no longer washed in red stain.

"Yes," he said gravely. "You, Ari."

Everyone's eyes were on me, and I felt myself grow tense—they were all _staring_…

"What?"

My mind was spinning, and his words seemed to reach me in jagged syllables as I tried to battle through my confusion. Me? _Me?_

"When I met you for the very first time and then, later, when you told me who you were, I understood. I understood why you needed to be there, even if you didn't, at the time. And I understood that this mission, this task I am entrusting all of you with— you need to be a part of it. Believe me_._"

My self-esteem hitched up a couple of notches, but my utter bewilderment remained. To complete an impossible, a Herculean task...

"Sir…" I wanted to say 'no', I really did. But when I caught Harry's concerned and troubled stare, and the desperate ones of the others, I felt my determination give a little, and it came out more like, "…are you sure?"

Dumbledore's eyes turned immeasurably gentle. "My dear, I have never been so certain of anything in my entire life."

Raising his voice so that everyone could hear it, he said, "Everyone, I do not expect you to agree with me on attempting this mission. But… think of it as a second chance. A clean slate." I saw Malfoy's head raise itself at his words, and I felt my resolve disintegrate completely altogether. "For everyone."

I looked down at my lap, my heart beating a violent tattoo against my ribs.

_A second chance…a second chance … a second chance …_

What did I have to lose that I haven't already?

_A second chance…a second chance … a second chance …_

"Alright." I said, already knowing I'd regret it. "I'll do it."

_A clean slate._

**A/N: Thanks, all.**


	6. Death Eaters

**Disclaimer: **Meh.

**A/N: **Oh my gosh, 29 pages. I'll keep this short; don't wanna add to the word count.

Ollivander's alive and I suck for not updating.

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 5: Death Eaters**

_'I'll do it.'_

The words hung in the air, heavy with trepidation.

_I'll do it._

Uttered almost against my will, against all sensible reason, I had said them.

_I'll do it._

What the hell was I smoking?

'Thank you, Ari,' Dumbledore said quietly, drawing me out of my less than coherent thoughts. 'Thank you.'

Great, now I felt guilty.

'It's no problem,' I muttered, blood rushing to my cheeks as I felt the curious eyes of everyone at the table on me. Good God, I was embarrassing.

'And us, sir?' Malfoy inquired sharply, mouth forming a tight line of disapproval. 'Do we get a choice in this as well?'

'Shut it, Malfoy,' Harry said, glaring at him along with Ron and Hermione.

'No, he is quite right, it would be somewhat unfair if I only seek the consent of one person. Fortunately, though, with you it is a slightly different case as you have quite a while to think about it before make your final decision, so I will not pressure you.'

Oh gee, thanks.

'How is it a different case, sir?' Hermione asked.

'Well, you see Miss Granger, since Miss de Lioncourt has made her decision, then it is obvious that she will be staying with us for quite some time. Moreover, there is the fact that she may not be- ah, accustomed, to her surroundings as of yet, and we have to make the required arrangements for her to settle in.'

I winced at the phrase 'arrangements' and I looked up guiltily at the ancient wizard, my fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the underside of the table. 'Sir?'

'Yes, Ari?'

'What do you mean by 'arrangements'?'

'Well, assuming that you'll be finishing your sixth year at Hogwarts, then I believe that you will require a few revision lessons on your subjects...?'

My eyes all but fell out of my sockets and my fingers ceased their dramatic overture immediately at his last few words. _No way...There was no way..._

'…do you happen to know what subjects you have chosen for your sixth year?'

I blinked. 'Subjects…?'

Ignoring the others' surprised looks, Dumbledore smiled warmly at me, eyes twinkling merrily with amusement. 'I see we have a lot to get through then…

'Well, everyone, that is basically all I wanted to speak to you about. Please, let me know when you decide…though some of you, of course, might take a little longer than others.' I saw Harry send a frown towards Malfoy's direction. 'That, of course is fine. This is quite a considerable task. I am asking you to leave your family, your friends, and your life for the small window of opportunity we have in preventing the destruction of the world as we know it, and I know that it is unwise to make any hasty decisions when deciding.'

I watched the others out of the corner of my eye as he said this, and, to my surprise, it was only Harry and Malfoy who didn't have their heads bowed, in contemplation of what lay in store. In fact they were both staring straight ahead, wearing expressions so similar for such different personalities: determination.

Like they knew what their answer was, without even looking back.

'Harry? Could you please show Ari around, make sure she doesn't encounter anything…erm…unpleasant? I understand that although Mrs Weasley has tried her best to fully de-creature the house, some curses...can never fully be removed.'

Harry glanced at me, blinking bemusedly. 'Er, yeah, that's fine.'

Dumbledore's face split into a wide smile then, and he looked around at us happily over a deep purple bag filled with small yellow candies that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. 'Well that's all settled then!' he said cheerfully, which contrasted noticeably with his earlier seriousness. 'You may go!'

As everyone stood up awkwardly, preparing to shuffle out of the room (including myself), I heard Dumbledore call out again.

'Ari? Could you please stay behind?'

I stopped, looking over to where he sat at the head of the gleaming black table, the light from outside reflecting on its brightly polished surface. 'Uh…sure.'

I turned to Harry, who had been waiting for me at the doorway. 'See you at the kitchen?'

He nodded, green eyes flashing. 'Yeah, alright.'

Harry gave what appeared to be a cross between a half-hearted wave and a nose scratch and left the room, closing the door behind him.

I looked at Dumbledore, who was currently concerned with the demanding process of unsticking two lemon drops. He glanced up.

"Well, Ari. It's nice to see you again."

I felt uncertain, kinda fuzzy, and more than a little creeped out. "Well, sir…it's good to finally meet you."

"Ah, yes of course! The _Harry Potter_ series, by that very talented young woman, er… Rowling, was it? Devilishly intriguing, although I must say, they were quite harsh in the portrayal of Professor Snape," His eyes twinkled mischievously, "although I do believe that my character was rather spot on."

I couldn't help it; I giggled, and Dumbledore smiled again. "Sir…can I ask you something? If you know all of this, then… you know I'm not supposed to be here, right?"

Dumbledore bridged his fingers. "You told me so yourself in your sixth year, but I continue to digress."

"Really? Why?" I asked, surprised.

The wizard sighed and an air of dreaminess fell over him as he pondered my question.

"Fate and Time are not something to be tampered with Ari," he murmured, his eyes taking on a faraway look. "Let's just say that I doubt you would be here if you weren't supposed to.

"I have seen your past, your future, and as of now your present… and I know that, here..."

My heart thumped painfully in my chest, and I felt my fingers resume a tap dance on the hard ebony table. "So I really went back in time?"

Dumbledore cocked a silvery grey eyebrow in my direction. "Why? Did you not think you would go through with your decision?"

"No…It's just that…" I trailed off, not knowing what to say. How could I put it?

"It's just that, as of yesterday, y'know, I was just Ari de Lioncourt, a Muggle kid failing French! And now…am I even still a Muggle? I can't do magic, right?"

Something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle escaped Dumbledore's lips, though when I narrowed my eyes at him, he had his features composed in a perfectly oblivious expression. 'No, you are no longer a Muggle. Not entirely, anyway. In fact, and I'm sure you'll recall, the incident this morning involving a certain Miss Weasley…?"

"Ginny? Yeah, she slammed into the w—_holy crap custard, I did that?_"

Dumbledore appeared to really be struggling to contain his amusement now; the corners of his mouth were twitching like there was no tomorrow and I watched exasperatedly as he coughed and scratched his nose a few dozen times.

"Yes, Ari," he finally managed to get out, his eyes looking slightly water, "you did that."

I was dumbstruck; how? "But sir, I don't even have a wand! How could I have possibly…"

"Well, I'm assuming your situation at the moment is quite similar to any eleven year old witch or wizard across the world—you simply haven't learned to develop you powers yet. That, of course, will improve by itself, once you start practicing. As for your wand problem, or lack thereof, I think we can remedy that quite easily…shall we say, a little detour into Diagon Alley tomorrow morning?"

The resulting sound that came out of my mouth sounded like a strange cross between "_Yes of course I'd love to," _and "_Afgshsdgfjhdfagfuyegj_!"

Thankfully, Dumbledore did not seem to be able to decipher any of what I had just said, and he took my donkey-bray in the affirmative.

"Excellent then, " he said happily, pushing his crescent- shaped glasses higher up his nose. "I can finally restock my lemon drops!"

Ignoring this, I gave voice to something that had been bugging at me since he had told me about it. "Professor? When you meant 'lessons'… did you mean like Defense Against The Dark Arts and stuff?"

"Oh yes," he said, bobbing his head thoughtfully. "Perhaps Charms and Transfiguration, too… whatever you wish to be your subjects in your sixth year."

"Are you serious? That's… that's so…great! That's so great! Sir!" I said, a massive grin stretching on my face, hardly daring to believe it.

Dumbledore seemed amused by my enthusiasm. "I'm glad you think so. I will be teaching most of your subjects myself; however…

"However, it is imperative that you be taught Occlumency as well."

The conga line in my head ceased abruptly, and I suddenly felt like I had just been dipped in ice water. "Occlumency? Taught by who?"

"Taught by me," came a cold, snide voice from behind me just as Dumbledore opened his mouth.

I suddenly felt the extreme urge to upchuck.

"Why, hello, Severus," Dumbledore said pleasantly to the sallow, disapproving man by the door and completely ignoring the slightly swaying, greenish girl in front of him. "You are well, I hope?"

"Yes," was the clipped reply. "I believe you required my presence?"

"Ah, yes! Well…

"Ari, this is Professor Snape, your Occlumency teacher."

* * *

I moved numbly towards the kitchen that Harry and I had passed on our way to Dumbledore's office, my mind heavily occupied.

So I was doing Occlumency.

My least favourite part of Harry Potter (and I mean the book, not the person), the most personal and intruding piece of magic there was, and I was going to study it.

With Snape.

Gah.

This was terrible. This was…completely…completely insane. I mean, there wasn't even a reason as to why I was even learning it!

Wait, scratch that.

There _was_ a reason; essentially that running around in the past carrying secrets from the future around a brilliant, insane future Dark Lord wasn't such a great idea. And even more so for me, considering that I'd read the whole damn series and knew how everything would end.

Merlin's underpants (and that truly was a catchy phrase), things were getting tricky.

"Hang on—Ari!"

Startled, I whirled around, looking for the source of the voice that had called out my name. It was Harry, with Ron and Hermione, sitting around a smaller, burn stained wooden table in the kitchen. "Oh…hey."

Malfoy didn't seem to be there; he must've skulked off somewhere else.

I came over to join them, pulling up a chair gracelessly; Harry began to make the unnecessary introductions.

"This is Ron, and Hermione—Ron and Hermione, this is Ari."

Ron looked away from me awkwardly, but Hermione attempted a smile, and I was thankful for it. Not necessarily that she had a nice smile (although she did) but for the fact that she was, at least, trying.

"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger."

I tried to give her a friendly grin in return, but my cheek muscles felt stiff and unnatural, as if I wasn't used to the movement. "Hi. I guess you already know who I am…" I slipped a peek at Ron who appeared to be examining his nails meticulously "…and it's nice to meet you. Er, about earlier—I'm really sorry about that too, y'know, with Ginny. I didn't mean to—I mean I didn't even know it was me who did it so—but apparently it was…"

"Hang on—so you're not a Muggle?" that was Ron, looking up from his grooming with a surprised expression on his face. He wasn't the only one, believe me.

I sighed, running a hand through my bed hair tiredly, unintentionally making it wilder so that it bore a strong resemblance to Harry's. "Apparently, I'm not, according to Dumbledore. But I definitely used to be, until today—though as to how that possibly happened, I have absolutely no clue."

Hermione frowned in thought, tapping a finger absentmindedly on her chin. "Not a Muggle… and you didn't know, so… where are you from, Ari? I mean, if it's not to private or anything," she added hurriedly.

I hesitated. Dumbledore had said I could tell them the truth about where and when I was from, but he'd also warned me not to reveal too much, especially about...future events...

"Well, it's a little hard to say. Originally I'm from Heathrow, London, same as you. Except…

"Except I'm from the year 2010."

Almost simultaneously, everyone's eyes went wide at my little announcement and I wished I had a camera to take a photo of the moment. The looks on their face. Priceless.

'So it's true then? You're really from the future?" Ron asked, ginger eyebrows shooting upwards like a pair of demented caterpillars had started dancing on his face.

I considered the term for a second. Future? Maybe I was, but I lived in the _real_ world too…

"Yes. I am."

Ron let out his breath in one single awed gasp. "Whoa."

I agreed with him.

"What did Dumbledore want to talk to you about?" questioned Harry, who seemed less affected by this piece of news than anyone else.

I winced. "Just about—what lessons I'll be doing this year, when I'm going to get wand, and I have to take a few private lessons with Dumbledore and Snape too, since I haven't been a witch for very long."

"Snape?" Harry caught the last part shrewdly, forehead crinkling. "What d'you have to take lessons with him for?"

I felt the bile rising in my throat again, and I fought it down. "Occlumency." I near hissed through gritted teeth. Ugh. Even the word made me feel disgusted.

Green, cobalt and honey eyes flashed with alarm and Harry's jaw dropped, causing his glasses to slide down of the bridge of his nose.

Hastily shoving them back up, he stared at me. "Occlumency? With Snape?" he asked sharply.

"Blimey, mate, she's almost got it as bad as you…" Ron said, shaking his head in near disbelief.

Harry ignored him. "Why do you have to take it?"

"You three, could you please set the table? I've enough things to do as there is, and Fred and George are simply _not_ of any use—oh, who is this?" A kind faced, plumpish woman with long red hair—Weasley hair—was staring at me with a half anxious, half harassed look on her face.

"Hey, Mum, this is Ari—she's…a friend of Dumbledore's, and she'll be staying with us for a while." Ron said hastily, clearing his throat.

"Hello, Mrs Weasley," I said politely. "It's nice to meet you."

"Oh, hello, dear… you'll have to forgive the state of the place, it's rather cluttered at the moment."

"No, it's fine, actually."

Mrs Weasley beamed down at me. "Well, it certainly is nice to have someone who isn't picky for a change!" she said glancing down meaningfully at Ron. She looked back at me. "Oh my goodness—Ari, was it?—you look awfully hungry—has Dumbledore been feeding you enough?"

"Er…"  
She tsked. "Well that can be fixed easily enough, it's nearly dinnertime, if you don't mind waiting for a few more minutes. You look awfully thin, dear, a nice hearty meal would do you some good—where did you say you were from again?"

"She's from Europe, Mum," Ron hurriedly supplied. "Dumbledore thinks that she should stay here so that she can finish school at Hogwarts."

_What?_

"Oh, really? What school did you attend before?"

_Gah._ I racked my brains. "Er…Beauxbatons."

"She speaks excellent French," Ron said helpfully.

"Uh…_oui_."

"Well that certainly would be helpful, especially considering…" Mrs Weasley trailed off thoughtfully, a glint in her eye and I saw Hermione cover her mouth to stifle a snort.

"Considering…?"

"Oh nothing, dear, nothing at all." Mrs Weasley said, the glint still remaining, as she turned away from the table distractedly. "Dinner will be in a few moments—Ron, please, the table?"

"Alright, alright!" Ron said, throwing up his hands in the air and standing up.

"Don't you dare take that tone with me Ronald Weasley—"

"Sorry, Mum."

"We'll help," Harry said, standing up quickly, and Mrs Weasley beamed at him, and the contrast between her previous sabre-toothed tiger and her now maternal aura was astounding.

"Thank you, dear, you've always been so helpful…"

She moved off, probably to continue whatever she had been doing before, and the four off us went in search of cutlery.

"What was all that about?" I asked them in a low undertone the moment I felt sure we were fully out of sight.

Hermione sighed. "Ron's brother, Bill and his fiancée, Fleur's wedding." She whispered back, rummaging through the drawers and pulling out a stack of silver forks. "She's French, and Mrs Weasley can't stand her."

_Now this I remember._

"Ah… well what was all that stuff about 'finishing my schooling at Hogwarts', then?" I asked, opening and closing cupboards at random.

They paused in their work; for a fleeting moment nobody spoke.

Then:

"The others don't know about Dumbledore's task," Harry said quietly, not looking up from his goblet-filled drawer. "We…we haven't told them anything about it."

I stopped, looking at all of them. "They don't know? At all?"

Ron shook their heads. "Can you imagine their reactions, mate?" he said running a hand through his flaming hair. "We wouldn't hear the end of it."

I leaned back against one of the drawers behind me, folding my arms across my chest. "You've decided then?"

"Of course," Hermione said, resuming the arranging of cutlery and everyone else followed suit. "Maybe not initially, but it's…it's for the best. We have to do this."

"Yeah, well, tell that to Malfoy," Ron said, carrying a stack of plates back into the kitchen. I took half of what he was carrying from his arms and balanced them carefully on my own, following him.

"He's the other guy, right?" I said, getting into character."The blonde one?"

"The egotistical one, the pig headed one, the conceited, arrogant…"

"Ron!" was Hermione's reproachful reply.

"So I guess he's not coming." I mused out loud, mirroring the way Hermione was setting up the plates.

"Well, we don't actually know that," she replied, tucking a stray strand of brown curls behind her ear, as she straightened a few spoons. "Ron's just prejudiced…"

"I am _not_ prejudiced! C'mon! The git wouldn't do anything for anyone if he didn't benefit from it! I'm just using simple logic!"

The bickering continued, and pretty soon I lost interest in the conversation, which had switched to some obscure topic involving the Chudley Cannons and Arithmancy. It was actually pretty cute, in an odd way.

I looked at Harry who was watching them too, a slight smile playing on his lips as he folded napkins. "Are they always like this?" I asked him.

He nodded, and he held up his index finger to his lips, indicating for us to keep our voices low. "Best not to get into it, or it'll go on for hours."

I chuckled softly under my breath but that stopped when I heard the sound of voices coming from the next room. The rest of the Order, probably.

I fiddled with the napkin in my hand nervously. More people…

"It'll be fine, you know."

I looked up at Harry who was watching me.

"I get the feeling that you aren't used to being around a lot of people…I should know, I'm the same," he said, with a small, shared smile. "But it'll be fine."

I glanced over to where Ron and Hermione were still arguing and back to the Boy-Who –Lived in front of me. His fringe had parted slightly, and I could make out the faint pink outline of his lightning scar beneath the strands. "Harry… thank you."

The corners of his mouth tilted upwards. "No problem."

* * *

I yawned again, walking down the hallway blearily blinking sleep from my eyes.

"You tired?"

I just gave a noncommittal grunt in Harry's direction. "Mm. Sleepy, and like I'm about to explode any second."

He grinned in response. "Liked the food, did you?"

"Best meal I'd ever had in my life." It was true. The orphanage had served such dull, bland food…the whole Oliver Twist thing really wasn't that far off. Even at the foster home I was—had been—living in, the food had a sort of 'artificial quality' to it, not like Mrs Weasley's cooking. God. Who even knew that amount of butter could even be ingested?

"Really?" Ron asked, not bothering to put up a hand to stifle a yawn, which earned him a disapproving glare from Hermione next to him. "That's Mum for you then, always about the food. What about yours?"

It was an innocent question, nothing malicious. But it still made my lungs close off and stomach turn to ice when I heard it.

"I…" I fumbled around for a second. "She's dead."

Harry stopped in his tracks and stared at me, but I continued walking, pretending to be oblivious of it. "Died around three years ago. Same as my dad."

"Oh…I'm sorry," Hermione said, and I could hear the sympathy in her voice, as well as the dull thud of an elbow being jammed into Ron' s ribs.

"Ow!"'

I shrugged. "It's alright. It's been a while, y'know? Time passes. People move on."

The rest of the walk was relatively quiet, and I felt more than a little tense during the trip. How could the subject have come up so soon, here? What happened that night...I couldn't even remember it.

'We're here."

I pulled myself from my thoughts and looked up.

"You'll be sharing a bedroom with Hermione and Luna—she wasn't at dinner, but I think you'll like her. Ron and I are just next door, and that's pretty much the same for everyone else here." Harry said, then added in an undertone, "Don't forget to keep the door closed. You remember Kreacher, right?"

I made a face and nodded, covering a yawn.

"Aw, don't do that," Ron groaned and he followed my example, stretching out his arms hugely as he did so. "Mm…well, g'night guys…c'mon Harry, mate, it's nearly midnight, and Mum's making us get up early tomorrow…"

"Yeah, okay. Night, you two," Harry said to us, following Ron through the door. "Sleep well."

The door shut and Hermione sighed.

"Boys," she muttered, yanking open the door to her—_our _—room. "Insensitive, dim witted, completely oblivious…"

I followed her into the room (which, like every other room in Grimmauld Place was _massive_)and looked around, blocking out her miniature rant for a second.

Three double beds were positioned against the wall, facing a wide, open window that showed the starry night outside, and on one of them was girl with long, dirty-blonde hair wearing pajamas that appeared to have small pictures of odd, contorted _moving_ cows on them and was currently scanning a certain magazine quite interestedly.

She looked up.

"Oh, hello Hermione and Hermione's friend. I don't think I've met you before."

Although Hermione appeared to be rather uncomfortable at Luna's strange greeting, I felt a grin slowly make its way to my face as I regarded the girl on the bed.

After all, it wasn't every day one met their favourite fictional character now, was it?

"I'm Ari, nice to meet you. You must be Luna…?"

"Yes I am, actually." She stated matter-of-factly. "Did the Nargles tell you that?"

"Er…"

Hermione coughed ostentatiously and moved over to her bed, pulling out something from her suitcase that lay next to it. "Ari, your bed's over there, next to mine. I guess Dumbledore must've conjured it up or something when you arrived."

"Okay, thanks." I moved over towards the bed to the right of Hermione, the one closest to the window and peeped out at the perfect, summer night sky outside, its surface sprinkled with cold fire. Huh. It looked like the sky hadn't changed from back home—I could still spot Orion's belt glimmering faintly against the blue black velvet. It made me feel a little bit better.

That some things, never change.

'Probably Nargles...although I wouldn't put it past a Snorkalump to do something like that, they're awfully nosy...''

Despite myself, I snorted. 'What are you reading, Luna?' I asked her, not looking away from the view outside.

'Oh, a rather fascinating article in the _Quibbler. _Daddy's the editor, you see, and he recently commissioned a special discussion on Muggle superstitions. Have you heard of the term... 'hor-us-cope'? I much rather prefer pieces on the magical creatures that surround us, but this _is_ quite intriguing...do you know when you were born, perhaps, Ari? I have a feeling you might be a Capricorn, but I'm not sure...'

Looking at Hermione, who was just as bemused as I was, I replied. 'December.'

'Hmm...as I thought, a Capricorn,' Luna said, her protuberant grey eyes scanning the colorful magazine. 'Let's see...

Capricorn: Will meet extraordinary changes in future, particularly in location. Relationships will develop, but you find yourself caught between a rock and a hard place as time passes by. The best thing to do is wait, listen and see- it will be your decision that matters most in the end.

You also have a fetish for fluffy woollen things. Interesting...'

I caught Hermione's eye, and she bit her lip worriedly, a little pale. 'Just superstition...' she muttered, turning away and pulling out a rather heavy looking textbook from her suitcase.

'I suppose so,' Luna replied, oblivious to the sudden tension in the room, twirling a piece of hair between her teeth. 'Hm, a rock and a hard place, what a lovely muggle euphemism.'

I turned away from the window and examined my bed. On it was a small, brown suitcase, barely large enough to fit three of my hand spans, and there was a small white envelop on top of it._ Now that definitely wasn't there before..._

Gingerly, I picked it up- this was Harry Potter Land, after all, who in hell knew what magic, unintentional or not was on it- and after flipping it over to see if there was a name or anything (there wasn't) I tore it open.

The thin, slanted handwriting seemed vaguely familiar.

_Ari,_

_Since you will, in all likelihood, be staying with us for quite a while I have taken the liberty of providing you with a few essentials in the suitcase currently residing on your bed. Some of the items inside may seem...familiar, and if you happen to have any questions regarding the matter, please feel free to interrogate my person at any time._

_A good night's sleep to you all._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Well, okay.

I put the letter carefully to the side and regarded the suitcase in front of me curiously. To be honest, it didn't look like it could hold much and I wasn't expecting anything special as I undid the polished brass claps on either side of the handle and lifted the lid open.

The first thing I saw were a pair of bright yellow pyjamas folded neatly on top of what seemed to be a pile of clothes; this too I tossed aside, deciding I would wear it later- somehow, Dumbledore had managed to guess my favourite color. Burying my hands again into the pile with complete and utter disregard for the amount of effort put into its organization, I sifted through its contents, throwing aside whatever happened to be in the way and expecting my fingers to encounter solid bottom any second.

I frowned sifting deeper. Dozens of pairs of jeans, shirts, robes, skirts came flying out of the piece of luggage- and possibly more than a hundred pairs of socks- but still, the suitcase was as full as I had initially opened it.

_What on earth? _

I figured that Dumbledore must've put a charm on it or something, so that it never ran out of room, but childishly, I refused to stop searching through it to find its bottom.

Millions of stuff was in there, and not just clothes, but such a random assortment of items- a battered hairbrush, a man's shoe, even a small pillow. But then my fingers encountered something small and thin, and I withdrew them to find a slip of paper the size of my palm, squarish in size and yellowed, as if it was very old. Sneaking a glance at the other two witches in the room, I examined it more closely, turning it over in my hands and liking the feel of its cold dry surface against my skin.

There was handwriting on the back, tiny and loopy and barely legible, squeezed into the space between the ruled horizontal lines of the paper.

Oddly enough, it resembled my own, from the heavy hand with which it was written, right down to the double crossed t's.

_The Complete History of Wizarding Genealogy. __A de L, 3rd September, 1944. __Due 17th September, 1944._

Huh. It must've been a library card or something, an overdue one, judging by the second date.

I let my finger trace over the signature, running over the sharp indents of the letters. It was mine. My signature. This was...me.

'Ari, aren't you going to change?' Hermione asked, eyeing the various items of clothing piled sloppily on the covers around me. 'It's a little past twelve.'

'Yeah, you're probably right,' I said, tearing my eyes away from the note with reluctance. I grabbed the pair of sunshine-pyjamas, standing up.

'Which way to the bathroom?'

* * *

A few minutes later, I was tucked securely in my new bed, watching one of the cows on Luna's pyjamas attack another one in a vicious, gory battle with my hands behind my head.

'Luna? What exactly are those animals on your pyjamas?'

'Oh, they're Crumple- Horned Snorkacks!' she said brightly, straightening up a little in her bed. 'Daddy got these for me, he'd thought I'd like them...'

'Crumple-Horned Snorkacks don't exist, Luna,' Hermione muttered sleepily from the other side. 'Go to bed.'

'Oh, they exist of course,' Luna said, although she did follow Hermione, turning off the light and curling up in an extremely awkward position which I guessed must have been the norm for her, judging by contented expression on her heart shaped face. 'But it's awfully hard to do so, when everyone believes you don't.'

I raised my head a little at her last words, but she'd already closed her eyes, seeming to be already peacefully asleep.

And I? I wasn't about to work my fried brain any longer, and so I turned over, closed my eyes, and willed for unconsciousness to claim me.

* * *

'So, Ari, are you ready?'

I gulped, but attempted to nod bravely. 'Yes. _Yes._'

Harry grinned at me, and I noticed that he had flattened his hair against his forehead again, probably because we'd be going somewhere where he'd be bombarded by Daily Prophet reporters and fangirls (who _weren't_ me). 'Just remember to say where you're going clearly, and try not to inhale too much ash when you breathe in, because the taste doesn't wash off for ages. Other than that, you're good to go.'

'And...and you're _sure_ they won't find my flaming carcass on the other end?'

He chuckled. 'I promise, I'll be right behind you.'.

That cheered me up, for some inexplicable reason, and hesistantly, I scooped a handful of the glittering powder from the flowerpot that Harry was holding out to me, and faced the roaring green fire in front of me.

Damn. Who knew that fire could look so...firey?

I took a deep breath and moved into the jade flames, wincing as I waited with baited breath for the unbearable agony to strike at any second.

It didn't, and suddenly, I giggled.

'It- It tickles!' I gasped out, half out of shock and half out of laughter. It was true.

Little tingles were spreading wherever the flames touched my skin, and pretty soon I was doing a sort of Irish jig in the fireplace, trying to control my laughter.

'See? I told you. Now, c'mon, or we'll be late.'

I held up the hand with the powder in it high above my head, just like he'd showed me and let it trickle through my fingers into the blazing flames.

'Diagon Alley,' I said clearly.

_Arughh!_

The entire fireplace seemed to be contorting, moving at high velocity in seemingly any direction available and I lost track of which way was up, down, any which way, basically.

I barely had time to catch my breath as I caught glimpses of random scenes- other people's living rooms, I assumed, if I was following JK's book correctly- and I held on the brick walls surrounding me for dear life, hoping that the 'ride' would end nownownownowno-

_Thud._

I yelped as felt my head collide with the brick ceiling and even more so when I was thrown out of the fireplace suddenly, landing very painfully (and gracefully) on the hard wooden floor.

'Ow,' I muttered, and then I noticed the expensive looking onyx black shoes that were only inches away from my nose.

'My, my, what an _elegant_ entrance.' The lazy drawl wasn't that hard to recognize, and I banged my head on the floor with sheer annoyance at my luck. Of all the people I could've faceplanted in front of!

'Oh piss off, Malfoy,' I heard Ron's voice say as I scrambled to my feet, coughing weakly and dusting myself off. The grey dust had completely covered my 'new' borrowed clothes with a thin layer of grime, and I hastily tried to wipe off any remnants of the ash of my jeans- I hadn't bothered to try wearing robes.

'Yeah, whatever you say,_ blood traitor_,' Malfoy sneered, grey eyes like chips of ice. 'Got your filth-loving Mummy to protect you, do you?'

There was a violent cuss, and Ron launched himself at the blond, foregoing any use of his wand as they crashed together on the floor in front of me.

'-_gonna kill you_, I swear, Malfoy-'

'- I'd like to see you try, Weasley-'

I was standing with my mouth open, completely at loss for what to do (I had no idea where Hermione or Mrs Weasley had gone, even though they'd Flooed before me) and I probably would have continued in that position had I not noticed the rather conveniently placed jug of water within arm's reach on one of the shelves next to me.

Taking a firm hold of its handle I held it just above the two wrestling boys and tipped it.

'Argh!'

'What the-'

'For God's sake, woman, are you _insane_?'

'Probably,' I replied seriously to the now dripping wet Draco Malfoy who was at the moment glaring at me with cat-like vivacity. 'Could you please stop?'

He opened his mouth angrily, but his words were drowned out by the sudden re-ignition of the fireplace.

The emerald fire flickered again and Harry stumbled out, coughing and without his glasses.

'I still prefer brooms,' he muttered, almost to himself as he pulled out his glasses from his pocket and began to clean them with the tail of his shirt.

He straightened himself up, put them on, and blinked. 'What just happened?'

Thankfully the door nearby opened and Hermione and Mrs Weasley came in, both seeming out of breath and puffing rather heavily.

'So sorry we're late- the apothecary was closing early, we had to rush to get some of Hermione's potion ingredients, everyone's been so paranoid with You-Know-Who- what's going on?' Mrs Weasley's voice, which had been panting earlier suddenly took upon an air of confusion as she stared with a considerable amount of surprise at the scene that lay before her.

Malfoy was on top of Ron, on the floor and they were both completely soaked with the water I had thrown on them. Apparently they both realized their strange 'position' at the same time, and they both shoved themselves off each other scrambling backwards and shuddering, as if they had touched something unclean.

'Nothing,' they both muttered, though they still shot daggers at each other from opposite sides of the empty, almost bare room.

Which reminded me.

'Hey, er, Mrs Weasley? Where are we?'

'Oh, just a little storage room behind Madame Malkin's, dear. Speaking of which, do you five need any robes this year...?'

'Oh no,' Hermione said hurriedly, casting around a meaningful glance at the rest of us. 'Dumbledore said that he'll be taking care of it this year...sort of like a school project?'

Mrs Weasley frowned. 'Is that so? Well, if the man insists...goodness knows who am I to question his methods...'

She mumbled to herself, readjusting the parcels in her arms that were on the verge of falling off. She looked back up at us, noticing we weren't moving and said with her hands on her hips, 'Well come on! We don't have all day, you know, we still have to get your school things!'

Avoiding Malfoy, who had decided to switch his acid orbs on me now as he muttered a drying charm over himself, I followed Mrs Weasley out the door.

* * *

Diagon Alley was...

Amazing.

Unreal.

Breathtaking.

_Magical._

Even with most of its shops closed and the streets probably less busy than it normally would have been and bright yellow Ministry flyers littering the street, it was still the most extraordinary place I'd ever seen.

I was so tempted to press my nose flat against every shop window that we went passed- it seemed everything and anything was on sale, from exquisite, jewel encrusted ornaments that seemed to have no use in particular to me to shrivelled, severed human appendages- and it was more than once that I nearly fell over the cobblestoned street in my complete distraction, so enamored was I in its splendor.

There didn't seem to be a single inch of free space left in the street we were currently walking (or in my case, stumbling) along now- it was either surrounded in higgledypiggeldy stores or shops or smothered with large groups of chattering, excited people.

But as entrancing as the overall image was, even I, a complete stranger to this world, couldn't ignore the chill that lay beneath the seemingly cheerful facade, couldn't help but notice how the smiles on peoples' faces were rather strained and how most people tended to band in groups, similar to ours rather than shop by themselves on the streets. It was like they were trying to resume their normal life, but something...something was preventing them from doing so.

'It's awfully depressing, isn't it?' Hermione whispered to me as we walked side by side together, observing the scenes we passed by. 'Normally it isn't like this, but ever since what happened at the Ministry last year- you've heard about it, haven't you?''

I nodded. 'Yeah, of course. Now that they know that Voldemort's back, everyone's been getting edgier…"

That was just something I'd remembered from the sixth book, and I suddenly felt disturbed as I realized that I was one of those people, or at least, had reason to be. I wasn't just a bystander anymore.

"Mrs Weasley? Dumbledore said for me to accompany Ari to Ollivander's to get her a new wand, he says she lost hers in France during a Death Eater raid.' Harry called out to her from behind me.

Mrs Weasley only nodded worriedly; she seemed a little preoccupied watching the other people on the street as if they were going to attack her at any second, her brown eyes darting around. 'Sure, we'll meet you at Flourish an- oh no, you don't need books, do you? Alright, we'll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron. Stay close!'

She called out the last part to us as Harry steered me to the left, exiting the street. We both turned and waved, but she continued to watch our retreating figures anxiously until we were out of sight.

I nudged Harry with my elbow. ' 'Death Eater raid'?' I murmured out of the corner of my mouth.

He shook his head, glasses slipping a little down his nose. 'It's something that's been happening often everywhere lately, so I figured it wouldn't seem too out of place if you'd lost your wand then, rather than not ever having one at all.'

I was impressed. 'Good thinking.'

'Thanks.'

We continued walking, passing several people who stared at us curiously (Harry nervously flattened his fringe) until we reached a store with narrowed glass-panelled windows and the sign, 'Ollivander's: Maker of Fine Wands Since 382B.C.' on a gold plaque above its entrance.

I felt tingles of excitement begin to gather in my stomach at the thought of what I would find inside, but was all quelled by a sudden, icy cold lump of dread: what if a wand didn't pick me at all? What if, somehow, Dumbledore had made a mistake and I wasn't a witch, like he'd said? What if...what if Malfoy was right? What if my blood was too dirty, too contaminated that I could never be able to perform magic and never would?

My feet halted their steps, and I queasily held a hand over my stomach in a mild attempt to calm down the turmoil.

'Merlin's pants, this can't keep going on,' I muttered to myself angrily, the hand closing into a hard fist. 'I am not this insecure!'

Harry stopped a few feet away from me.

'Did you say something?' he said, one eyebrow going up quizically.

'Er, no, let's go inside!'

I grabbed his elbow, and dragged him through the glass paneled door, which opened with the gentle tinkle of a shop bell.

Inside was gently lit by the dim, yellow light of various candles that adorned the place, and once again, I was struck by the utter difference of the place; it was almost as if I had travelled back in time...again.

My senses were going into overdrive since my eyes were adjusting to the sudden absence of light.

The place smelled of beeswax and rosin and old wood, too and I could just barely make out the light top notes of vanilla on my tongue.

The sound of rustling paper also could be heard faintly, as a light breeze swept through the crevices of the tightly bolted glass windows and traced a circuit around the many bookpiles and parchments stacked around the cluttered room, a similar design to Grimmauld Place.

When I could finally make out a vague outline of where I was going, I watched as Harry walked up to the counter and rang the tarnished brass bell on its surface.

A few seconds passed, the tiny chime of the bell still resonating in the air until finally-

'Ah, back so soon, Mr Potter?'

I jumped at the unexpected presence and whirled around to see a tall, thin man with the most unnerving grey eyes observing the two of us from a shadowed corner between the tall shelves at the back of the room.

'I hope you are well? And your wand, too? Unless,' Ollivander said, and his ethereal eyes narrowed slightly, 'you have come to replace it, no?'

Harry shook his head, drawing his holly wand out of the pocket of his jeans. 'No, it's fine. It's just, ' he paused searching for the right words, it seemed, 'my friend, she needs one. Professor Dumbledore told me to give you this.'

He pulled out a small, sealed envelope and handed it to Ollivander, who accepted it delicately as if it would crumble to pieces in his palm.

I waited uncomfortably as his eagle eyes scanned the note quickly- had Dumbledore made plans for everything?- before folding it into half, then quarters, then eighths and slipping it into the pocket of his faded black velvet robes.

'Well, well, well,' he said quietly, training those pale orbs on me. "I was wondering when this would occur, though I must say I have had my doubts…." He stopped seeming to study me for moment which made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. "It is nice to finally meet you Miss de Lioncourt."

I stared back at him in wonder.

"I believe I have your wand right here." He moved to the shelves at opposite end of the room, running his long, spidery fingers across the numerous rectangular boxes that lay stacked until he came across a particular one.

He stopped, opened the box and examined its contents for a second, before putting it back in its place, muttering to himself.

Harry and I exchanged glances.

He continued to do this until it seemed he had found the box he had been looking for and removed its lid.

"Ah, here we are." Ollivander gently drew out something from the box, something small, gold and glittering which even I, with my limited magical experience, knew not to be a wand.

It was a key.

The wandmaker carefully brought it down and moved over to the desk that held the little brass bell and bent down, obviously searching for a compartment or something, and Harry and I watched in silence until we heard a small 'click'.

"Yes. I remember this."

Extending a hand into the crevice, he pulled out another long, thin box that seemed absolutely identical to the previous ones he had pulled out, except, perhaps, slightly dustier, and the color of its surface less potent.

"Eight and quarter inches. Alder. Quite rigid, but very loyal to its owner, and suited for defensive magic. And its core…"

He looked up at me sharply, eerie eyes penetrating. "Tempus."

I stared back, confused. "I'm sorry?"

"Time," he said simply. "Within your wand is Time—or at least, a part of it."

He opened the box and drew out a slender piece of red-black wood, a few inches below the length of my forearm and examined it closely, searching for faults and imperfections in the grain.

"Perfectly preserved, exactly how it was the day I made it. Amazing…" he gave it a few trial flicks, measuring it against his own arm. "May I see your wand arm, Miss de Lioncourt?"

I offered him my right hand and he took it in his own, examining it thoroughly, much the same as a palm- reader would. My cheeks burned as he took in the two long, white scars that travelled across the diagonal of my palm and across the inside of my first three fingers, his eyes narrowing, and I pulled the appendage back, discomfited.

Ollivander surveyed me for a moment before extending the wand handle to me. "I believe this belongs to you, Miss de Lioncourt."

I stretched out my hand again, the tips of my fingers hovering hesitantly, just above the wand's polished surface.

An eternity seemed to pass, trapped there in that moment, both Ollivander and Harry watching me intently as I battled my uncertainty; then my fingers abruptly closed around the handle.

_Whoa._

It was like the worst case of pins and needles I'd ever had—my whole arm seemed to be thrumming, vibrating with an unseen energy that burned like fire, in the best way possible.

The wand seemed to be glued to my hand and I felt pulse after pulse of sheer, raw, magical power flow through my veins as bright blue sparks began to shoot out of its tip, which I watched with wide eyed captivation.

It felt…good.

Mine. Not just an inanimate object I held in my hand, but like an extension of _me_, my body, my…magic.

The shockwaves began to subside a little and they gradually decreased in magnitude until the wand—my wand—became still, although I imagined I could detect small vibrations running along its length.

The shop was silent; all that could be heard was the quiet sound of my ragged, uneven breathing.

"Wow." I whispered.

"Yes. An unusual wand, that one." Ollivander said, surveying it carefully. "Chronologically unstable, with a core like that—I thought I'd never seen it again after it vanished out of my hands only a few minutes after I'd made it. Who knew, that more than a century later…" He trailed off, seemingly lost in memory.

I was ecstatic, absolutely euphoric about my wand until I realized something very important, and very disheartening.

"Mr Ollivander? How much is it?" I asked him dully, hand unconsciously tightening on my wand. I barely had an 'allowance' back home, what more here?

This seemed to snap Ollivander out of his nostalgia and he shook his grizzled head almost wearily, passing a hand over his eyes. "Nothing. It is yours. Dumbledore has simply asked me to keep hold of it from when you left it, until you returned."

_When_ I left it…what did that mean?

I began to ask him what he meant by that, but then the door swung open to reveal a very harassed looking Mrs Weasley, accompanied by Hermione.

"Ah! Molly Weasley, willow and ashwinder wand, eleven inches, unyielding, am I correct?"

"Yes." She said shortly and then turned to Harry and I. "I know I told you to meet us at the Leaky Cauldron, but we really do have to get going if we're going to see Fred and George's shop and I want to be back home before twilight—do you mind, dears?"

We shook our heads simultaneously, a comical sight. "No, that's fine Mrs Weasley, I have my wand now anyway."

As I exited the shop door, I looked back at Ollivander, who was watching our departure intently with his probing eyes. "Mr Ollivander, thank you…for my wand."

He only nodded, a thin smile curving his mouth. "It is my pleasure, Miss de Lioncourt."

I managed a small grin in return and closed the door, the tiny bell jangling behind me and my wand clutched tightly in my hand.

* * *

"This," Dumbledore said, eyeing me carefully through his crescent shaped glasses, "is a feather."

I nodded, paying vital attention to every word. "Yes."

It had been a day since I'd gotten my alder wand, and to be honest, I hadn't done much with it. Mostly I just stared at it, admiring the red-black color, but I was too chicken to try it out for myself. For some reason I couldn't get what Professor Moody had said in the _Order of the Phoenix_ about "hexing someone's buttocks off" if they weren't careful where they put it, so I made sure to leave it underneath my pillow, where it hopefully wouldn't do any damage—despite its close proximity to my head.

"Tell me, Ari, what are some of the properties of a feather?"

I thought for a moment. "It's…light?"

"Exactly!" Dumbledore clapped his hands happily in approval and I felt a sort of pathetic sense of achievement. "It is _light_. And because it has less _mass_, then less _energy_ is required to move it, following Newton's First Law of Motion, correct?"

I was surprised. "You know the Muggle scientist?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Oh, he was never a Muggle, my dear."

"Moving on," he continued, ignoring the sight of my eyeballs rolling on the floor, "this energy is drawn from the wizard, or witch's, magical source, meaning that the lighter the object, the less effort is required to move it. So, we shall begin with a feather."

Dumbledore raised the Elder Wand and drew a pattern in the air, saying clearly, "_Wingardium Leviosa!"  
_I watched in awe as the pristine, white feather began to rise slowly into the air, and as Dumbledore flicked his wrist, made it perform a cartwheel in midair.

"I believe you are familiar with that one," he said, smiling at my expression.

I nodded again, my grip on my wand tightening, like I now tended to do when I was nervous.

"Good. Then I understand you are aware of the wand movements?"

"Troll boogies tend to make an impression, sir," I muttered, eyes still trained on the floating feather.

The wizard chuckled. "Ah yes, of course. That was a rather spectacular Halloween feast, if I do say so myself."

"Now, do you have your wand?"

I gripped the item in question hard enough to make my knuckles turn white in response.

"Er…very good. Maybe loosening your hold would perhaps yield a more effective result, hmm?"

Reluctantly, I slackened the hand on my wand a little, feeling incredibly foolish. I couldn't help but notice the distinctive grace with which Dumbledore held his wand, like a conductor about to lead a waiting orchestra—in contrast to my own, like I was about to brandish a baseball bat at him.

"Better. Now the words, '_Wingardium Leviosa'_—remember, in the words of Miss Granger, '_levi-o-sa'_—and the wand movement."

Feeling more than a little dim witted, I twirled the wand at the second feather on the table half- heartedly. "_Wingardium Leviosa!_"

To my incredible surprise, nothing happened.

"Hmm, well, that was fairly good for a first try." Dumbledore tried to console me, and I winced. "Try again, and remember, a combination of words and movements do not produce magic, but rather, act as a channel for your internal magical force onto an object."

I flourished the wand at the feather again, trying to find my so-called 'internal magical force'. "_Wingardium Leviosa!"  
_The words felt awkward, stilted on my tongue like a foreign object and I fought to dispel my small disappointment when the feather did nothing yet again.

"Focus, Ari. Focus."

This time I waved the wand more aggressively at that aggravating feather (which by this time, I strongly expected to be made out of lead). "_Wingardium Leviosa!"_

The process continued repetitively for a solid hour, with my wand movements becoming more zealous with each try and Dumbledore exhausting every possible angle to approach the spell. I had to give the man some credit, though; not once did he ever give up on my lame attempts, even when the wand actually hit him in the nose after flying out of my wildly gesticulating hand.

"Hmm, maybe another approach then," Dumbledore said thoughtfully, rubbing his nose (I had made panicked apologies to him after I had hit him). "Your wand is quite hard to master, though, if I do recall, you were quite proficient in your spells when I first met you in 1944. Your technique was interesting, too—ah!"

Startled at the sudden outburst, I raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Sir?"

"I had never realized why—yes, of course, that would explain—I'd never asked you about it, you see, and now…"

"Sir?"

Dumbledore held up his wand carefully between blackened fingers, demonstrating. "Draw the wand in a sort of diagonal across your body, and then follow up with the correct wand movements, like so." He sliced his wand through the air, following it up with a swish and flick. The path the wand traced seemed sharper, more aggressive and decidedly less fluid than Dumbledore's first demonstration, but somehow…

"And I assume that you imagined your desired outcome, rather than speaking out loud—because the results...well they tend to be rather disastrous when you duel..."

"I did what?"

"Focus, Ari. The feather, lift it."

Turning back towards the newly found bane of my existence, I appraised its deceptively innocent form, raising my wand.

It was just a feather.

My wand slashed through the air and jerked back into a swish and flick. _Wingardium Leviosa!_ I shouted in my head, imagining its ascent with as much force as I could muster.

Two things happened at once: the feather wobbled, and trembling, began to rise unsteadily into the air, and at the same time I felt a wave of déjà vu so overwhelming that my knees buckled heavily and I crashed back into my chair, effectively cutting off the flow of magic to the feather; it fell back down silently.

"—_that so, yeah? I'd like to see you try—"_

"—_don't know how much longer you'll last—"_

"—_do that again and I promise, I _will_ kill you—"_

"—_Tom!"_

"Argh!"

My head snapped back with the force of that last cry and I clapped my hands over my ears in a pointless attempt to block the voices echoing in my mind.

My wand lay on the floor in front of me from when I must've dropped it, and it was a while before I finally removed my hands from my head, staring at the object with a feeling of panic.

"What was that?" I asked Dumbledore shakily, who had moved to my side. "I heard…voices…"

Dumbledore stood silent beside me as I clenched my hands tightly together, still shuddering slightly. "Whose voice did you hear?" he asked quietly, lowering down so that he was in level with my pallor-drained face.

I shook my head. "I don't know. I could barely make out anything… everything sounded sort of—staticky, I guess and there were so many—I think I heard my voice?"

Dumbledore locked eyes with me for a moment, his face unexpectedly serious, before nodding and standing up to move over back to the desk, where he lightly skimmed a withered hand over the feather, appearing to be deep in thought.

"Sir?" I asked him, after the silence had gone on for some time. "What did that mean? What just happened?"

He didn't reply for a while.

"Your wand," he said at last, and each word seemed like it cost him a considerable amount of effort to say, "do you know of its core?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Mr Ollivander said something about Time, or Tempus being it, but I didn't really understand what he meant by that."

Dumbledore stroked his long white beard gently. "He is quite correct. You see, Ari, there is no such thing as coincidence. We, all of us, are tied together by strands of Fate and Time, as directed, and within your wand is one of those Strands."

My eyebrows raised, and I cast a glance at the still piece of wood on the floor at my feet. "Then what about the voices?"

"Hmm, yes, well. I have come to the conclusion that because your wand is so closely linked with the _Vicis elementum_ it would tend to remember the vibrations of certain events, memories, of your past much more than a wand with a core of, shall we say, dragon heartstring.

"Of course, all wands do this—the only difference with yours being the magnitude and potency of which these sudden relapses into the past occur."

"So the stuff I heard…that happened in my past? My future, I mean?"

Dumbledore watched me carefully for a second before answering. "Yes."

I remained silent, still pondering what Dumbledore had told me. Racking my brains, I could just make out some of the voices and conversations I'd heard, but none of it had contained enough clarity for me to actually understand what had been happening.

I leaned forward and swept the wand off the ground, this time taking a closer examination of it in its entirety rather than solely its color.

The wood was hard to the touch, and solid seeming, sturdy. I closed my palm around the handle and this time I noticed how it seemed to fit exactly into my palm, perfectly molded to suit my hand right down to the jagged scars. It felt familiar.

"I think that's enough for today," Dumbledore said at last. "I will see you here at the same time tomorrow, is that fine?"

I looked up and smiled unexpectedly. "Yes, that would be great!"

Already, I was excited. I mean, I'd just made a friggin' feather _float _(like, two millimeters above the ground)!

The tense atmosphere in the room melted suddenly; Dumbledore chuckled. "Ah, the willfulness of youth…"

"Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, Ari."

* * *

My lessons with Dumbledore continued very much in the same fashion as the first, in the same manner. I normally turned up to them twice a day in the same room that I had landed myself in when I first arrived, once in the morning and one in the afternoon, staying for about two or three hours.

Dumbledore was a tough teacher. Brilliant, and incredibly animated about the subjects that he taught (which for me, was basically everything except Divination and History of Magic) but incredibly, incredibly uncompromising, especially where technique was concerned.

I learned faster by saying the spells in my head rather than out loud, as it tended to focus my concentration better on the actual task, and the funny wand movement I made at the beginning of each spell seemed to help also. When I'd asked Dumbledore about it, he'd told me that my sense of magical balance was slightly skewed (because I was truly that uncoordinated) and so I did that little flick to focus my magic in my center, where it was most potent.

And I never heard the voices again.

As the weeks passed, gradually drawing closer to the 1st of September, when we'd been informed we'd be 'leaving', I grew increasingly better at each spell I attempted. Granted, I probably held the skill of the average magical eight year old at that stage (though Dumbledore had assured me that this wasn't so) but I could perform most standard spells without _too_ much effort on my part by the fifth week under Dumbledore's instruction.

And some spells...well...let's just say that I was a little too fond of a certain Hair-Loss Jinx.

Unfortunately, though, there were just some subjects that completely eluded my sane mind, despite Dumbledore's continual efforts- say hello, Potions.

'Do I really need this much powdered wartfrog?' I asked Dumbledore dubiously as I measured out the correct amount on the brass scales that he had conjured up at the beginning of the lesson.

He sighed, and continued to pick at his squeaking box of Ice Mice next to him. 'Yes, Ari. It balances the side effects of the Marphalogos liver you added in earlier.'

'But then,' I pressed, frowning at my cauldron, 'why do I need the masticated Unicorn dung, then?'

'Well, you see, that er, adds to the overall flavour.'

'And the walrus duodenum?'

'To be fair, you only need a pinch of that; it's to reduce the dizziness and lapses in concentration caused by the Ecto-Cabbage.'

I sighed frustratedly, slamming closed the textbook with a dull 'thud' on the table.

'This is so pointless!' I complained, glaring daggers at the dull brown mixture in front of me. 'If I wanted Pumpkin Juice, I would've just ordered it, not made it myself!'

Even Dumbledore had been at a complete loss of what to say and that particular Potions lesson not surprisingly ended quite soon after.

Whenever I had problems with in my lessons that even Dumbledore couldn't remedy (which was extremely rare but happened on occasion) I always asked Hermione for help about it; she was always all too willing to explain the theory to me. In. Great. Detail.

She and the others had warmed up to me a little more (with the exception being Malfoy of course, who we had found out had made the decision to leave with us also) and we managed to get along okay. I liked Harry best, though.

I couldn't quite explain it; his mere presence comforted me, and for that I just liked him inexplicably. I liked his face, liked his outstanding obliviousness and liked _him_, his character entirely.

So when Dumbledore decided that it was time for me to learn how to duel, he was the first person I panicked to.

'You'll do fine,' he reassured me in soothing tones after I had stopped hyperventilating, fanning myself with a purple Ministry flyer emblazoned with the words, 'HARRY POTTER: THE CHOSEN ONE?' on the chair next to him. 'Dumbledore'll go easy on you, you haven't been doing this for very long anyway so he won't expect you to really duel."

* * *

"I expect a real duel from you this time, Ari," Dumbledore told me seriously as we faced each other from opposite ends of the magically elongated hall.

I fingered the wand between my fingers nervously; this was only my seventh dueling lesson and he expected me to be able to fight already?

We both bowed to each other and Dumbledore counted off. "One…two…three…"

_Averte statura_! I shouted inside my head, drawing a zigzag through the air with my wand and sending a bright gold streak of light at the old man who dismissed it easily, barely flicking his wand and countering by transfiguring the various chairs and books scattered around the hall into bewitched, moving marionette dolls that moved jerkily and rapidly towards me.

My eyes widened as one of them—the one made out of a coatstand and a few candlesticks—took a swipe at my head, which I dodged quickly, sidestepping the enchanted figures that continued to follow me.

For some reason they reminded me irresistibly of the Inferi; this gave me an idea.

_Incendio!_ I cried, stabbing my wand at the figures in a miniature circle and a thick stream of brilliant crimson and gold fire spurted out the end; it greedily devoured the dummies (they were made out of wood and paper, after all) and they crumbled into black ash before my eyes.

The fire hadn't gone out yet so I concentrated on directing it towards my dear sweet Professor, beads of sweat forming on my brow with the effort. It shot towards him, a bullet from a gun, incinerating any more of the dummies that happened to get in its way and blackening the floor in its wake; Dumbledore's eyes narrowed and he performed a complicated wand movement, effectively turning it into a light powdery snow.

My relief was short lived however, as the snow suddenly swept across the room towards me in a thick, substantial sheet of ice across the floor and climbed up my legs, trapping me firmly to the ground.

I noticed how my breath was forming mist in the air and my teeth chattered incessantly as the frost crept higher, towards my waist.

Making effective use of my sudden immobility, Dumbledore sent a flash of electric blue light in my direction—hot damn, the man could _move_.

My wand arm was still free though and I twirled it desperately in the air in front of me. _Protego!_

A wide, semi-opaque shield threw itself in front of me, just seconds before the light collided with my chest and they clashed together with a resounding gong, causing it to rebound back towards Dumbledore, who dodged out of the way.

While he was distracted, I focused on the steadily growing sheet of ice that was slowly encasing me, directing my wand at the hard transparent mass. _Diffindo!_

The ice at my feet split and while I managed to kick the rest off of myself, the deep crack I had made spread throughout the room, carving a surprisingly deep gorge in the floor that spanned across the marble floor, heading towards Dumbledore. Briefly I wondered whether the owners of Grimmauld Place had insurance, but I quickly dispelled that thought as Dumbledore stopped the chasm from spreading, inches from his feet and flicked his wand upwards, causing the ice to separate from the floor and move into jagged shards towards me.

I was really panicking now—oh my God, what did he think he was doing?—and the numerous list of spells I had memorized scrolled at top speed through my head, indecisively. I picked the first thing that came to mind, my heart thumping wildly in my chest.

_Plurelanus volito!  
_The splinters of ice immediately transfigured into hundreds of indigo butterflies and I closed my eyes reflexively as they shot towards me, brushing across my face and body harmlessly before fluttering upwards around the hall.

Waving them off me with an arm, I brought my wand through the air again. _Furunculus!_

Dumbledore batted the scarlet beam I had sent his way as easily as if it were one of my butterflies and he countered with a jet of deep violet light that started off as a single beam, then split into three separate spells midway through its journey.

_Oh crap_.

I ducked as one shot past my head; the other two hit me in the chest and my stomach and I collapsed on the floor, struck breathless by the sudden fit of giggles from the crazy tickling sensations that were ravaging my entire body.

"Tickling Charm?" I choked out, snorting at Dumbledore who stood above me with a concerned expression on my face.

"Indeed," he said, eyes twinkling brighter. "One should never forget the basics. Would you like me to remove it?"

"I'm begging you!" I fell into fits of laughter once more as the charm grew in intensity, and I banged my fists on the floor, tears streaming down my face.

Dumbledore chuckled and waved his wand wordlessly; the sensations vanished in an instant and I slumped, breathing heavily.

He held out his undamaged hand to help me up and I accepted it gratefully, dusting the debris off the back of my jeans.

"So… er… how was that?" I asked him sheepishly, scratching my head.

Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully, his wand now carefully stowed in his robes. "Very impressive, Ari. You are definitely improving."

My face split into a wide, silly grin. "Really?"

"Mm. That trick with the butterflies…very creative, my dear, that was quite surprising…" Dumbledore looked at me. "I think we can finish here today."

"Oh?" Dumbledore's lessons, particularly the dueling ones, usually didn't finish until it was well past the three hour mark.

"Yes, you did quite well today, I am very impressed."

I punched the air with a fist. "Yes! Er, I mean—" I looked at Dumbledore sheepishly, but he appeared to chuckling, amused at my reaction. "Thanks, Professor."

"Not a problem. Now, to solve the issue of cleaning…" He looked around at the former dining room, which was littered with chunks of ice and small fires, not to mention the ten foot gaping crack in the floor. "Oh dear."

Within a few minutes (and with my help) though, the room was almost as spotless as it had been initially, and back to its normal size.

"Oh, Ari?" Dumbledore called out, just as I was exiting the room. "Don't forget, Professor Snape would like to add an extra hour to your lesson tonight."

I let out an inaudible mutter in reply and shut the door closed behind me.

I'd forgotten about my night class.

* * *

I scowled at the man in front of me, crossing my arms over my chest hotly. 'You can't expect me not to retaliate if you just go through my personal life like that!'

'For the last time, I saw nothing!' Snape snapped (haha, what a funny phrase) finally losing his patience and the bruise over his right eye swelling angrily. 'I have told you before, there already appears to be a sort of self induced mental block for memories concerning _that_ particular area of your past, whatever that may be. Regardless, however, that does _not_ give you permission to hurl any of the items in your possession at my person!'

'It's a reflex!' I argued. 'Excuse me if I happen to value my personal privacy!'

'When you are with the Dark Lord, there is no such thing!' he growled, slamming a veined hand on the desk in front of me. 'Again!'

I hissed in frustration and pinched the bridge of my nose, attempting to clear my mind, taking deep breaths in and out of my nose_._

_Think happy thoughts...think happy thoughts..._

I concentrated, thinking of something solid and sturdy that would act as a barrier- in my case, it was a generic brick wall. Tonight I imagined a 'No Entrance' sign on it, just for Snape's benefit.

_'Legilimens!'_

The force against my mind was back again, pressing insistently on my barrier. A quiet chuckle left my lips as I heard Snape hiss angrily, probably at my sign, and I winced painfully as the mental probe became sharper, more intense.

By this time I was sweating heavily under the strain of keeping the shield in place- though apparently I was quite better at this 'keeping my mind blank thing' than Harry was (for obvious reasons), I still, well...sucked. Or as Snape liked to phrase it, 'had the concentration capacity of an underdeveloped baboon'.

The barriers around my mind trembled and I gripped a hand on the underside of the desk tightly, panting. Damn it, I knew I wouldn't be able to hold out for much longer...

I forced myself to focus under the Potions professor's heavy attacks to invade my mind, pushing myself to keep my thoughts private for as long as possible.

_Come...on..._

Snape stabbed at a weak spot, and the shields crumbled to dust.

_I was five, and it was my first ballet recital in front of everyone I knew and Mum and Dad were whispering reassuring words in my ear..._

_I was eleven and I had just punched a friend in the nose for copying my homework when I wasn't looking... _

_I was sixteen and I watched with an incredible thrill of excitement, my heart pounding as Ollivander finally laid the wand into my hands..._

_I was fifteen and Anna threw a dusty black book with the words 'Harry Potter' on its cover at me, screaming for me to read it..._

_I was thirteen and there was a flash of silver as..._

'Argh!'

The tendrils of magic in my mind withdrew suddenly from my mind and my eyes flew open, blinking confusedly yet grateful for the unexpected ceasefire.

Snape was glaring at me lividly from the other side of the desk, one hand held up to his nose which was bleeding profusely, great drops of crimson landing on the table.

'What happened to y-' I glanced down at my hand, which I realized was curled into a tight fist, and its first two knuckles covered with blood. 'Oh. Oops.'

His glare only became more acidic at my less than helpful response, and I watched as his other hand fumbled for his wand in his robes, which he seemed to have trouble finding.

Feeling more than a little guilty, I waved my own at him, remembering a useful spell that Dumbledore had taught me a few days ago. _Episkey!_

As I watched with delight as his nose began to mend itself (this whole 'magic' thing was really, really cool), I shifted awkwardly in my seat, fully expecting a long and egotistic lecture about not "abusing your superiors" to come my way pretty much any moment now.

Snape coughed, wiping away the remnants of his blood with a slightly spotted grey handkerchief and I winced. _Here we go…_

"Better."

"Look, I'm really sorry—" I paused, frowning. "Pardon?"  
Snape shot me a cold glance from beneath the greasy curtains surrounding his now blood-free face. "I said that was better," he repeated, as if he were talking to an abnormally thick person. "You managed to last at least a minute longer before reacting; that is an improvement."

I stared at him, stunned. Did Snape just…? I mean, did he just tell me…? No, seriously did I just hear…?

He rolled his eyes at my expression, Vanishing the handkerchief and raising his wand once more. "Enough. Again."

I managed to hold on one second longer before kicking him in the area that he really should have put above his mind in terms of 'protection'.

This time, there were no compliments.

* * *

I laughed at Ron's expression as I recounted my lesson with Professor Snape, approaching the black pot filled with Floo Powder next to the fireplace in the back room of Madam Malkin's.

"No—you're-you're serious?" he sputtered, staring at me with a mixture of shock and awe.

I nodded, scooping a handful of the black glittering powder—Harry had already gone before us. "Yep, completely. It was terrible, and I felt really guilty about it afterwards…"

Today was the penultimate day we had before leaving for 1944, and the four of us—Malfoy, of course, was absent—were making good use of the time, walking around Diagon Alley and showing the sights off to me now that we didn't have any errands to run.

I'd had my first taste of Florean Fortescue's famous double chocolate chip sundae—which was by far, _the_ best thing I had ever tasted—buried my nose in the spellbooks and DIY guides at Flourish and Blott's, forcibly dragged the others for a quick peek at Knockturn Alley, much to Ron's displeasure and stood underneath the famous Gringotts arches, reading the ominous plaque that stood above its entrance.

It was completely fascinating, and I wished I had more time to remember it.

But Time is a fickle thing, and pretty soon it was nearing twilight, when Mrs Weasley had drilled into us to get back to Grimmauld Place, so we'd headed back to the Floo portal at Madam Malkin's, finishing up on some of the strange wizarding candies we'd bought earlier— to my immense shock, I found out that I liked the Cockroach Cluster the best, and that amused the others to no end.

I stepped into the grate filled with the usual emerald fire and flung the powder at my feet.

"No 12 Grimmauld Place!" I shouted, and immediately clutched at my stomach as Ron and Hermione's faces disappeared in a blur and I was taken through the increasingly familiar nauseating journey through the Floo Network once more.

"Mmph!"

I stumbled out of the fireplace back at Grimmauld Place and tripped over something, knocking it over.

"Shit," I muttered, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed, only to realize that I was surrounded in pitch black darkness. "What the…?"

Something cold and hard wrapped itself around my mouth and I yelped, though the thing muffled the noise.

Reacting on instinct and completely foregoing magic, I dug my elbow—hard—into the ribs of whoever it was behind me, and the person immediately withdrew, hissing a curse.

"Idiot! You need to shut up, or they'll find you!" the person spat at me, and I could dimly make out a figure rubbing his side gingerly.

My eyebrows raised; I recognized that voice. "Malfoy?"

"No, it's Sir Cadogan," Malfoy said irritably. "Of course it's me!"

"What happened? Where is everyone?" I asked him, lowering my voice to a whisper.

I could just make out him shaking his head slowly, platinum hair glimmering in the dark. "I don't know. I was…out, and when I got back _they_ were here and the house was completely abandoned."

"They?"

He rolled his eyes. "_Death Eaters_, de Lioncourt. They're here, right outside that door."

The air seemed to turn to ice in the room and I stood stock still for a second, not daring to breathe. "Well _crap_," I muttered, drawing in a shaky breath and fumbling for my wand inside my jacket pocket. "Where's Harry?"

"Your boyfriend just went out a few minutes ago to check how many there were—it would be _such_ a shame if he came back in one piece."

Despite the gravity of the situation, I still felt the blood rush up to my face and I was actually glad that it was dark. "He's not my boyfriend," I muttered.

My eyes had now adjusted enough to the dark to see Malfoy raise a pale eyebrow disbelievingly. "Is this really the time to be discussing your relationship status?" he drawled.

The sudden roar of the fireplace interrupted my angry reply and I saw Ron, followed quickly by Hermione stagger into the room, seeming just as confused by the lack of light as I had initially been.

"What in Merlin's teacu—" Ron began loudly, and Malfoy, who apparently decided it would've been useless to even try to quiet him down cast a muttered Silencing Charm at his shadowed form and he was cut off mid-sentence.

"Death Eaters are outside." He stated bluntly. "They'll hear you."

At the same time, the door suddenly opened—everyone in the room tensed visibly, expecting the worst—but it shut quickly and Harry pulled off his Invisibility Cloak, panting.

"At least seven of them," he informed us, breathing heavily. "The Carrows, Dolohov and Yaxley were the only ones I could recognize."

We stood in silence, the sound of Harry's labored breathing the only thing audible. The others shuffled in the dark and I waved my wand wordlessly at Ron, removing Malfoy's Charm. I was really getting better at my spells, but it seemed like there wouldn't be any time left for me to find out…

I stifled a cry of alarm as something brushed past my elbow and I jumped back into the wall behind me.

The thing was an eerie, glowing silver and it swept around us gracefully, its phoenix form gliding once around the room before perching on a table. Dumbledore's Patronus.

It opened its beak and the voice of the old wizard echoed softly in the silence.

"_Mundungus has betrayed us. Your parents and friends are in a safe location. Use the Portkey. We leave tonight. Good luck."_

We stared at the Patronus as it let something glittering fall from its taloned claws before giving a final, low musical cry and dissolving back into darkness.

Harry darted forwards, snatching the object from off the floor and holding it up for us to see. It was Regulus' locket.

" 'We leave tonight,' " Harry repeated in a whisper, staring at it. "Blimey, do you reckon…?"

The locket began to glow a bright, dizzy blue.

"Yeah, I do." I responded. "This is it."

Suddenly the door burst open with a bang and someone wearing a mask shaped like a skull stood in the doorway, laughing hysterically.

"Oh, so this is where the little kiddies are, eh?" the person leered, leaning against the door as he dragged his wand lazily across the air. "Now now, it's not nice to hide from the grown-ups…"

"_Stupefy_!" Harry yelled, and the dark red beam of light hit the Death eater square in the chest, causing him to fall down with a grunt. "Run! The Portkey hasn't been fully activated yet, so run!"

There were more of the black-robed figures in the hallway outside, and I watched, adrenalin rushing through my veins, as the others began to send flashing curses and hexes at them as if they had been doing it all their lives.

One of them caught me by the elbow and I jerked back, slashing my wand through the air. _Reducto!_ I screamed mentally, and I saw them crash backwards with a loud bang.

"Potter, is the locket activated yet?" Malfoy yelled, as he sent a Death Eater flying across the room with the Averte Jinx.

"Hang on!" Harry yelled back, confronted with a figure of his own. "_Expelliarmus_!"  
The wand flew out of the Death Eater's hand and I heard the man curse, lunging towards Harry who dodged him neatly, sending another Stunner at him.

The blue light in Harry's closed fist was glowing brighter now, almost white and I felt my eyes water just looking at it.

"How about now?" Malfoy shouted, struggling with another of the masked people and I aimed my wand at him. _Incarcerous!  
_Ropes sprung from the wand and shot towards the man who fell on the floor, cussing violently as he fought to stop the binds from strangling him.

"Alright!" Harry bellowed, waving his arms at us. "Now!"

I lunged forward, grabbing the chain of the locket at the same time as the others; its light seared my eyes and I closed them as I felt the jerk behind my navel dragging me forward before we disappeared.

The remaining Death Eaters screamed in frustration; the resounding _crack!s _were heard as they Disapparated.

And the quiet tick of the grandfather clock upstairs continued.

**A/N: Yes, finally finished this chap! Really, **_**really**_**, enjoyed writing this, but I'm glad it's finally over! *Sweatdrop* Long, wasn't it?**

**Anyway I think it's already been acknowledged to never listen to a word I say concerning updates so…:P**

**One more thing, the reason why I chose alder wood for Ari's wand (excerpt from Bardwood (.) com ): **

"...It **can protect one from the emotions of others, especially warlike anger or bloodlust**. It is particularly potent for protection against drowning or disaster by storm or flood. Its use in bridges, half submerged, symbolizes not only its power as a bridge between worlds, but its mentality, amphibiously **aware of the conscious and unconscious worlds**, the above and below, the overt and the hidden. Magical operations most applicable to Alder include: protection against drowning and **death; death curses** and shielding against them; **shielding** against all ill- omens and **destructive emotions**; cultivation of the vision of inner and outer worlds; bridging of the above and below; preparation for **conflict**; shielding against unwanted intrusions from beyond."

**Thought it'd suit, considering Tom and all that shizz.**

**Review, please?**

**Seriously. Like, my creative "genius" (ahem, coughs, vomits) is dying here.**

**Thanks for all the support!**

**N**

(**Also: The wand-lesson is important.)**


	7. Deserving To Die

**Disclaimer: **I ain't Bri'ish and I don't own Harry Potter.

**A/N: **Goy.

WHY OH WHY CAN"T I STICK TO MY UPDATE SCHEDULE? I'm such a slow writer...and I lose my inspiration _so easily_...

Sigh. No more excuses.

Here's the latest chap of PTL (which is quite _meh_ in my opinion, but whatever)so...enjoy? 26 pages!

Happy Birthday to anyone whose birthday is today!

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 7: Deserving to Die**

_And the quiet tick of the grandfather clock upstairs continued._

Everything was quiet. Just the sound of our breaths, barely audible.

No flashing curses, no harsh yells, just...us.

I opened my eyes and saw that I was lying face down on hard, wood floor—which I honestly hadn't noticed until now—and tentatively, I began to pull myself into a normal sitting position, cautiously examining my latest surroundings.

It seemed that everyone was on the floor, like I was, and they too were scrutinizing the room we were currently residing, wincing as they felt their sore muscles and various bruised appendages from the rough landing.

The room was plain, its walls a discrete tan color and rectangular in shape, roughly the size of our bedroom back at Grimmauld Place. It appeared mostly unfurnished, with the exception of a small circular table in the center, made also out of wood but darker, and on it sat a rather large looking folder.

"Where do you think we are?" Hermione whispered into the quiet air, her voice sounding slightly fatigued.

Harry stood up, running his hands through his hair as he looked around, green eyes flashing.

"I don't know," he said finally. "but my best bet is to check that binder on the table."

Since I was closest to the center of the room, I made my way over to the table, picking up the slightly dusty black folder gingerly. It felt substantial, heavy in my hands and I flipped open its cover eagerly.

My eyebrows rose in surprise and I looked up at the others. "The first page is a note from Dumbledore!"

Running my hands over the thin yellow parchment—the same kind that Dumbledore used—covered in the familiar thin sloping hand, I began.

"_If you are reading this then know that the Portkey you have taken is successful._

_You are currently residing in the Room of Requirement at Hogwarts, on September the 1st, 1944 at 4:35 PM. At this very moment, my 1944 self is marking several papers in the main Transfiguration office, and it would be best to inform him first of your situation._

_Remember, until you discuss this with my past self, __you must not be seen._

_I hope you enjoy our first meeting as much as I have._

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, 1997._" I finished reading and looked up at the others. "Well, that seems fairly straightforward."

Malfoy snorted. "Of course. And I suppose we're just meant to breeze through the guarded, crowded halls of this godforsaken place undetected and unacknowledged, is that it?"

I blinked at him. "I suppose."

Harry fumbled around for a second underneath his jacket, appearing to be searching for something. "Wait—hang on a moment—aha!"

The silvery blue folds of his Invisibility Cloak slid out, like water made tangible and fell into his triumphant hands. " We can use this!"

"Do you think all five of us will be able to fit under there?" Hermione asked anxiously, her hair frizzing into her face and she swept it away impatiently. "I mean, we could barely fit under last year."

"I know, I know," Harry muttered, eyeing the fabric as he held it up in front of him. "But we have to try."

* * *

"—argh, watch where you're putting that thing!"

"—if you get your arse out of my face Weasley, then maybe I will!"

" – guys this is so not the time to be arguing about—ow!"

"—sorry, sorry, lost my footing there—"

"—and you decided to put it on my ear?"

"Oh for goodness sake, shut up, the lot of you!" Hermione said exasperatedly from her strangely contorted position next to me underneath the Cloak. "People can still hear us!"

"Where do we go?" I whispered, struggling to see past the thin fabric of the Cloak. This definitely _not_ how I imagined exploring Hogwarts for the first time—back then, I'd actually thought I'd be able to _see_ the place, how 'bout that.

"Give me a second," Harry muttered and I heard the sound of rustling paper as he tried to fumble for something in his jacket yet again, and hitting me in the nose with his elbow in the process.

"Ow!"

"Sorry, sorry," he said apologetically finally dislodging the object from his clothing. "Here, I have the Map."

"Do you take that everywhere, mate?" Ron asked incredulously somewhere behind me. "Blimey, I knew you loved the school and everything, but that is just sad..."

"It was for emergencies, alright?" Harry scowled as he scoured the Map with his eyes, the tip of his wand set alight and his tongue between his teeth. "Here, look, I think we have to take a left at the end of this hallway, then left again at the second turn we see, then up the staircase to Dumbledore's office, that should be pretty easy so long as we don't run into anyon—oh crap."

A mass of black began heading straight toward us, pouring from the staircases and every classroom and my eyes widened in disbelief. "Oh no. Are you serious?"

I heard the sound of a smack as Harry facepalmed himself. "I completely forgot that class ends at twenty to!"

"Oh wow, they're getting closer..."

"That's what the Killing Curse is for," Malfoy muttered underneath his breath, and I elbowed him sharply.

"Argh! What in the bloody—"  
"Git reflex."

"Look, guys!" Harry exploded, silencing the both of us. "We'll just have to wing it, okay? Just—just try and slip through without hitting anyone."

Crouching low to the ground to hide our feet—because everyone else but me was freakishly tall and kept on tugging the Cloak upwards—we managed to duck and weave our way past what I was sure was the majority of the Hogwarts student body until we found a mostly deserted corridor.

"Okay," Harry panted, putting his hands on his knees. "The... hard part's... over. Now... we just... have to...get to Dumble...dore."

"Didn't...you say... the Transfiguration office... was at the top of those stairs?" I wheezed, clutching at my chest.

"Yeah, but..." Harry paused and stared slackjawed at the 345,956,249 step (approximately) staircase in front of him. "Oh that is just..."

* * *

The large wooden door in front of us crashed down with a resounding bang and all five of us burst through, ripping off the Cloak with a grateful sigh.

"Subtle, de Lioncourt." Malfoy said snidely.

"I don't think _Alohamora_'s supposed to do that..." Harry mused, and I scowled at them, stowing my wand back into the waistband of my jeans.

"Look, this whole 'magic' thing isn't that easy, alright?" I snapped. "Give me a break!"

"Maybe for _you_, but I think _I_ can manage to cast a Grade Two Standard Spell without seeming like a complete buffoon."

I opened my mouth to continue my verbal abuse but I was interrupted by a quiet, polite cough from the far end of the room.

"Ahem."

I froze, then craned my neck around to see a very familiar figure gazing curiously at us from a desk at the far end of the room, his hands folded almost expectantly on the desk.

His hair, whose normal silvery white color I had become accustomed to, was grayer, and streaked with weak strands of auburn, not to mention shorter as well. The old wizard's face was less lined, less gaunt and more carefree, but the welcoming smile that he now offered us was still the same as the Dumbledore that we knew, and that put me at ease almost immediately.

"Erm... that was a rather interesting entrance, I must say. May I help you?"

He waved his wand—which I noticed, was different to the one he used in 1997, meaning that he had not yet taken the Elder Wand from Grindewald yet—wordlessly at the door we had splintered into pieces and it repaired itself instantly.

Harry stepped forward. "Professor," he said seriously. "We—well my name is Harry Potter. This is Ron Weasley, Ari de Lioncourt, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, and... we come from the year 1997."

The expression on Dumbledore's face clearly said, 'please explain'.

Harry took a deep breath. "In the future... the Wizarding world is at war. We," he motioned to us, "are fighting against someone who calls himself 'Lord Voldemort'—"

At the sound of the name everyone but Harry and myself shivered, and the glint in Dumbledore's eyes became slightly calculating.

"—who you yourself say is one of the Darkest wizards ever to emerge in more than a century. Erm—you sent us here, to 1944 I mean, to locate an...an object that's supposed to help us defeat him, and, well... here we are." He finished lamely.

Uncertainly, I stepped forward, holding out the black binder we'd gotten in front of me with both hands. "Um, you also gave us this..."

Dumbledore quietly accepted the book and we waited in silence for a while as he flipped through its contents, occasionally pausing to read paragraph that might have piqued his interest.

As he neared the end of the book, I felt kind of giddy, unsteady somehow, as if the world had tilted beneath my feet—I figured my nerves were finally getting to me. After all, hadn't I just fought Death Eaters, travelled fifty-three years back in time, and practically sprinted my way through Hogwarts?

Finally, he finished reading and looked up, his clear blue eyes twinkling gently as he surveyed the faces of each one of us.

"Well," he said, steepling his fingers together—he definitely hadn't changed much from his future self, "This is a very interesting situation you are in. And dangerous too, no doubt about that, from what I've read."

Hermione nodded, her fists clenched tightly at her sides. "We know."

"And you are willing to go through with it?"

"Yes," Harry said firmly. "We are."

Dumbledore studied us. "Very well then. I believe there are just a few things left to take care of—but first, a trip to the Infirmary would be in order, don't you think?"

I cast a glance around the rest of us; he was right. Malfoy had a large scratch around his left eye from his scuffle with one of the Death Eaters, and Hermione had a split lip whose bleeding she was at the moment hastily trying to staunch with the sleeve of her blouse.

Not to mention all the lumps and bruises hidden beneath our clothing from the less-than-gentle ride through time.

Harry relaxed, and he gave an affirming smile. "Yeah," he said gratefully. "That'd be great."

* * *

I winced as I felt the matron—Madame Laroche was her name—jab her wand none too gently at the sticky green balm she had applied to the rather large bruise on the right side of my face, something which I hadn't noticed until now.

The weird substance began to start smoking and I yelped, flinching away.

Madame Laroche tutted. "Oh for goodness sake, it won't kill you!" she exclaimed, putting her wand back into her pocket and pulling out a small flask of purplish-grey liquid from her other pocket with the opposite hand. "Now drink this up—whatever are you making that face for?—it's a tonic for the nausea you're feeling."

I eyed the slightly bubbling substance with a mixture of distaste and curiosity.

"Do I have to?" I asked her dubiously.

"Yes!" Madame Laroche snapped, thrusting the glass container at me with increasing fervor. "Now drink!"

Gingerly, I took the vial from her, trying not to inhale the weird smoky vapors coming out of the neck of the bottle.

_Bottoms up_, I thought, and I downed its contents.

Almost immediately, I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep the vile liquid in—it seemed my body had instantaneously made up its mind to reject it, and it was a good five minutes (and a lot of thumping on the back from Madame Laroche) until I was sure that it was all down, and that it would _stay_ down.

My stomach rumbled. "Okay, I'm done."

Madame Laroche nodded approvingly, and headed off to attend to her other patients who were definitely in more need of her assistance than I was—a boy around my age stared solemnly at me through eyes the size of wagon-wheels from the bed across mine.

Furtively, I glanced around, wondering how the others were doing (and avoiding eye contact with the kid, it was really quite unnerving).

Ron had turned a rather fascinating greenish—grey color and was at the moment lying on his bed with his eyes shut, his hands clutched protectively over his stomach— he'd probably taken the same potion that I had. Hermione and Malfoy looked like they were coping well, with the majority of their more severe abrasions fully healed, with the exception of the occasional bruise on their person and Harry was holding an icepack to his head, a startlingly mundane sight.

He caught me looking at him and he winked back wearily, as if to reassure me, before closing his eyes in a fashion similar to Ron's.

It seemed everyone was still pretty worn out from the earlier events of today.

The sound of light footsteps coming from my left alerted me of another's presence and I looked up into the smiling face of Professor Dumbledore.

"Are you feeling better, perhaps?" he addressed all of us kindly. "It is no exaggeration to say that that was quite a trip you all have just undergone, and yet there is still much to discuss about your sudden presence at Hogwarts..."

"No, that's okay," Harry said quickly, opening his eyes and sitting up straight in his bed.

Dumbledore nodded. "Very well, then. I n a few moments you will be meeting with the Headmaster of this time, a Professor Armando Dippet. He will most certainly make inquiries as to your background upon entering Hogwarts—a necessary precaution, particularly since we are in the middle of both a Muggle and Wizarding war—so it would be wise to develop some sort of cover story before he arrives. I also suggest that you might change your names as well—though for some of you, this will not be necessary, most of your family names are relatively prominent, and it would be an unlucky situation should you perchance to meet a long- lost relative harbouring inconvenient inquiries as to your noticeable absence from the family tree."

"Well I'm a Muggleborn sir, my last name's Granger," Hermione said. "So I don't have to change my name."

'Yeah, it's the same with me," I said, feeling slightly relieved. I was never good with aliases, as I'd found out at my previous orphanage when some of the other kids and myself had sneaked out for awhile, changing our names so that we wouldn't get caught. I'd nearly busted all of us when I had apparently refused to answer by my title, despite the fact they'd been yelling it without surcease for nearly ten minutes.

But in my defense, what the hell kind of name was 'Berry Anne Summers', anyway?

"So I guess it's just Ron, Malfoy and me then," Harry said with an expression that suggested that he was thinking hard about something. "Alright. I'll be Harry... Harry Evans." He paused for a moment. "After my mum. She was Muggleborn, so it's not a common wizarding name."

"Very well then. And you, Mr Weasley?"

Ron looked dumbstruck. "Me? Er...well," He thought for a second, wrinkling his forehead in concentration before he gave a triumphant grin. "I'll be Ron McDonald!"

I snorted suddenly and I saw Hermione and Harry attempt to suppress their amusement out of the corner of my eye.

"What? What's wrong with that?"

"You're going to be Ronald McDonald?" I asked him, hardly daring to believe it.

"Yeah, so?"

Harry coughed loudly. "Ron, mate, where did you even hear that?"

Ron scratched his head in confusion. "I dunno... from a group of Muggles a few times, I s'ppose. It seemed like a pretty common surname if they mentioned it _that_ much, and since you're all taking Muggle last names then I thought it'd be fine! What?"

"That would explain a lot..." Hermione remarked, and I bit the inside of my cheek to restrain the wide grin that was threatening to make an unwelcome appearance at any moment.

"Huh?" Ron demanded.

"Never mind."

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with an amused sort of curiosity before he turned to Malfoy, who appeared to be deep in thought. "What about you, Mr Malfoy? Have you decided yet? I do believe out of all of us, your name is the most prominent."

"I was thinking," Malfoy replied slowly, grey eyes narrowed, "that maybe perhaps there should be a sort of... familial relation between two of the members of our little—'team'? To reduce suspicion? It would appear rather odd if all five of us were to suddenly materialise all at once without any apparent connections between us, no?"

I looked at him in surprise; he was right. Things were getting more and more complicated, and a little detail like that definitely could have hurt our validity later on. If we'd managed to overlook something like that, then what else could we have missed?

"Hmm, yes, you're quite right," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "that would be a problem... very well then, Mr Malfoy, from this moment on you will be known as Draco de Lioncourt."

"Whoa, wait, what?" I interrupted, the same time as Malfoy gave an indignant, "Excuse me?"

We both stopped and stared coldly at each other.

"—Incredible coherency, de Lioncourt."

"—Excuse yourself, Malfoy."

"De Lioncourt, now," Dumbledore reminded us cheerfully, clasping his hands behind his back innocently.

I tried again. "But sir—"

Malfoy cut in. "—we can't possibly be related because—"

"—we don't exactly get along, not to mention—"

"—know anything remotely personal about each other, thank God for—"

"—that, and also—"

"—probably the most obvious of reasons—"

"We look nothing alike!" Malfoy and I chorused in indignant unison, staring pleadingly at the less-older-than-he-was-before wizard.

No one could possibly object to the truth of that statement; I was dark in skin tone, eye color, hair color, whereas Malfoy was light, and almost wholly platinum, short where Malfoy was tall, hot-tempered where he was eerily cold, and not to mention kinder, more talented, generous, less arrogant, less conceited, and just generally more awesome in every way.

Dumbledore however, just smiled.

"Exactly," he said triumphantly. "And it is because you are so dissimilar that your charade as siblings will be all the more effective."

"I don't understand—"

"From what I have observed, you are both argumentative, appear to hardly be able to stand each other, aggressive, and yet despite this share amazingly similar personal qualities, not foregoing an uncanny knack for finishing each other's sentences. All of these qualities already denote that you are brother and sister to others, therefore no one will question you upon the truth of that statement."

I was shocked, almost speechless, and vaguely annoyed. It was one thing for Dumbledore to suggest this kind of preposterous idea, and another thing for him to actually make sense while doing so.

"Well... huh. Okay."

"So I'm assuming I'll be... Draco de Lioncourt?" The curve of his mouth twisted in distaste at the name, and it annoyed me to realize that it mirrored my own expression perfectly.

Dumbledore inclined his head in affirmation. "Yes, that's right. So, you are Harry Evans, Hermione Granger, Ronald McDonald—" I stifled a laugh with my fist, "and Ariadne and Draco de Lioncourt, is that correct?"

We all nodded; Malf—de Li—_Draco_, and I rather resignedly.

"Well then, now it is just a matter of your background to decide, in that case." Dumbledore resumed his thoughtful beard stroking.

"Maybe we had to leave our home because of the war?" Hermione suggested after a while. "If I remember reading the book _A History of Magic _correctly, then there were a number of wizards and witches who escaped abroad or changed their names to avoid conflict, so we wouldn't seem so out of place."

"Yes, that's quite true, Miss Granger." The auburn-haired wizard replied. "An excellent idea. Perhaps maybe... your families and I had strong ties... but they were murdered by the followers of Grindewald during a raid—" It surprised me how similar our back-story was turning out to be to my previous one, "—leaving you all orphaned... if that is the case then we'll say your previous residence was Saxony then, in East Germany as it has been the subject of Grindewald's attention, lately so it would make sense for you to have arrived at school this late without any preliminaries whatsoever."

"So basically... you brought us to Hogwarts because you knew our parents?" Ron asked, raising a ginger brow from his slumped position top his pillows.

"Yes. Conveniently, it is not at all far from the actual truth as I probably have or will meet your parents at some time or other."

"Doubt it," I muttered.

"So, when are we meeting this Dippet person, anyway?" Mal—Draco asked, frowning.

"_Headmaster_ Dippet," Dumbledore corrected gently, pushing his glasses up his crooked nose, where they were at the point of almost sliding off, "should, by my watch, be arriving in oh, approximately three...two...one..."

"Yes, yes, yes, what's all the fuss here then, Dumbledore?" a short, squat man with tufty grey hair and purple velvet robes asked Dumbledore irritably as he enetered the room.

His small beady eyes peered at the five of us through gold- rimmed spectacles, and they widened in surprise. "Oh?"

"Good afternoon to you too, Headmaster," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "I would like to introduce you to Hermione Granger, Draco and Ariadne de Lioncourt, Harry Evans and Ronald McDonald. They will be finishing their final two years at Hogwarts, due to the sudden and grievous passing of their parents no less than a week ago—very dear friends of mine, they were."

"Yes, unfortunate, very unfortunate," Dippet huffed fidgeting with his robes. "Well that's all very well then, Dumbledore, but you do realize that no matter the case, in order to enrol them in Hogwarts we would need their personal records, not to mention previous background his—"

"All taken care of," Dumbledore announced brightly. "In fact, I believe I have them here on my person at this very moment..."

I watched with wide eyes as he easily conjured several pieces of paper out of nowhere behind his back, which was only visible to the five of us.

The corner of Harry's mouth twitched.

" Here you are," he said smoothly, handing the parchment over to Dippet, who grunted approvingly before he stowed it away in the pocket of his coat.

"Very well then," he grumbled, sparing us a brief glance. "Yes, well, welcome to Hogwarts and all that." he said to us gruffly before turning back to Dumbledore. "I trust they'll be able to make it to the feast to be Sorted, yes?"

"Of course," Dumbledore said.

"Alright Dumbledore, I suppose if this is all settled then..."He gave us a curt nod and walked the path of his entrance, the tails of his ridiculous coat catching on the backs of his heels as he made his exit.

"Well, that was surprisingly easy," Ma—Draco remarked, an eyebrow going up as he stared almost accusingly at Dumbledore.

The old wizard blushed. "Let's just say that Headmaster Dippet was never particularly... thorough in his investigations."

"I can't believe we have to be Sorted again," Hermione muttered, crossing and uncrossing her legs awkwardly on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position to sit in.

"Relax 'Mione, we'll probably be in the same Houses again, anyway," Ron soothed, stretching over the gap between their beds so that he could pat her awkwardly on the elbow, "You, me and Harry again, just like in 1997."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Draco hide a dark scowl, shifting himself away from the others with a strange sort of cold elegance in his manner which was at the same time both intimidating and somewhat sad.

And for the first time it occurred to me that he shouldn't have been able to come with us, to even _be_ here at this very moment.

I'd completely failed to realize that particular piece of information when I arrived, completely forgot about the truth.

In the Half Blood Prince, M—Draco never appeared at the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix—if I remembered, he had probably been given the task of killing Dumbledore by Voldemort himself around this time.

So, what had changed?

What possibly could have happened that would have made him switch sides—willingly or no? I'd assumed that I had been the only change made to _this_ particular story, but... what if that wasn't the case?

"Ron, you tosspot, Ari hasn't had her Sorting yet!" Harry pointed out exasperatedly.

"Oh, yeah." Ron shot me a sheepish grin and Harry rolled his eyes. "Gryffindor, like the rest of us, eh Ari?"

I peeked at Malfoy out of the corner of my eye, and he was fuming, from what I could tell by his shadowed profile.

Dumbledore, also, had trained his piercing cobalt eyes on me and I had the uneasy sensation of being interrogated.

"Ari?"

Ah, yeah, the question. I knew which house I wanted to be in, knew without a single doubt in my mind, but...

I chanced another glance at my "brother" and still, he refused to look at us.

"Well... actually, Ron, I'd always thought Slytherin'd suit me more," I said nonchalantly, examining the less-than-perfect fingernails on my right hand, taking special interest in the chewed on one on my thumb.

From my peripherals, Malfoy snapped his head in my direction; it gave a sickening _crack!_ and he swore quietly.

On the bed next to me, Ron wasn't doing much better.

"WHAT?" he spluttered, drops of liquid flying everywhere from the glass of water he'd unfortunately chosen to tip down his throat at that specific time.

I winced as I felt some of it land on my face and I attempted to wipe it off with the sleeve of my t-shirt.

"Ari, you can't be serious!" Ron argued, throwing the covers off himself and sitting up straight in bed. "You can't—you're not like those- those snakes!"

"What makes me so different?" I said quietly.

I watched with a sick sort of amusement as Ron turned a strange shade of green, visibly struggling to come up with an answer to my question.

"Well because—you're not evil!" he finally shot at me. "And you're sane, and you're not all smarmy and stuck uppy..."

I snorted; this was becoming less of a description of a House in general than of one specific person.

"Is there more to this list?" drawled Draco, an ugly sneer forming on his face.

Ron ignored him. "Listen Ari, loads of the wizards who got Sorted in Slytherin became Dark Wizards and death Eaters, alright? Trust me, you do _not_ want to get involved with that crowd."

"Oh, and I suppose all Gryffindors are so perfect?" Malfoy fired, his calm facade rapidly slipping away—I suppose the Death Eater comment must've gotten to him. "Mindless, justice-loving fools without a single original thought in their heads? Spoonfed, loudmouthed idiots?"

The odd puce that was the color of Ron's face suddenly transformed into a brilliant maroon, and he opened his mouth, an angry retort clearly ready on his lips but Dumbledore beat him to the punch.

"Well I think that's enough exchanging of pleasantries for now—we do have a Sorting to get through, you know." Dumbledore interrupted politely.

An embarrassed silence permeated the air after that; someone in the room coughed.

"Er, yeah, sorry Professor." Harry mumbled, looking away.

Dumbledore blinked. "That's quite alright Mr Potter—or should I say Mr Evans?"

"Er... just 'Harry' would be fine."

"Very well then, Harry. I do suggest all of you get ready, and I will meet you in the Main Entrance Hall before dinner, is that quite alright?"

"Yes...thank you."

"Quickly, then." And with one last departing glance and a rather cheery wave, he left the room, the beginning notes of 'Yankee Doodle' just audible in his exit.

"Ron, you git."

"What?"

* * *

I shifted awkwardly on the spot, my eyes alternately darting to my left and right, where Harry and Draco stood, respectively.

My fingers drummed a secret beat within the confines of my borrowed Hogwarts school robes and in an attempt to silence them, I clasped both of my hands behind my back, doing every possible subtle (and not so) manoeuvre to avoid the hundreds of eyes staring at me curiously from the four giant tables in front of me.

_You have got to be joking me._

Some bored, some uncaring, but most... curious. Curious about the five complete strangers (who weren't eleven-year old midgets) who had apparently flown in from Germany and were about to be Sorted into their houses.

Letting out a small huff of annoyance at their pointed gazes and blatant stares, I directed my eyes at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall instead, pretending to be absorbed in the twinkling night sky that shone above us, a feat definitely easier done than said.

Thousands of lit candles levitated above our heads, the strange golden glow the emanated throwing elongated purple shadows on the floor and across the stone walls of the room. On a slightly lower level, House banners hung from horizontal masts that stood perpendicular to the walls—massive red, green, blue, and yellow tapestries that seemed to be in constant motion, as if someone had enchanted them to ripple and sway dramatically in the draughty Hall.

It was more than I'd ever pictured it.

Everything was so...so big, so dark and moody- like the Notre Dame which I'd visited when I was much, much younger- and above all, it was just so...

Magical.

The only possible fitting summary, or attempted summary. Its very air simply breathed magic, raw and unadulterated, almost pulsated it out in touchable, tangible waves—and it felt old. Very old.

Like—

The sudden outbreak of clapping from the tables in front of me jerked me out of my thoughts and I snapped my focus back to the eagle lectern, where Dippet had apparently just finished his very long and lengthy annual 'Welcome Back' speech, as Headmaster.

"And now, the Sorting for our newer, non first-year students. Due to the outbreak of war in Saxony, they have decided to transfer to Britain to continue their remaining schooling here in Hogwarts. Obviously there are personal issues involved in their situation, so please be considerate in your interactions."

Translation: _Keep your fat mouths shut about the damn war._

"Please give them a round of applause." Dippet droned monotonically, before stepping off the podium, coat tails still flapping comically.

Weak applause and hushed whispers followed this little speech, and my stomach flip flopped.

_So much for not drawing attention to ourselves..._

We waited with bated breath as Dumbledore casually strolled up to the platform, carrying something faded, tattered and very familiar in his arms.

As he reached his destination, he pulled his wand- his old wand- out of the confines of his midnight blue robes and conjured up a tall long legged wooden stool, which he carefully arranged on the stand.

Clearing his throat, he flicked his wand once more and began to read from the levitating scroll of parchment which now hovered in front of him.

'Here we go,' Harry muttered beside me.

'Granger, Hermione!'

I exhaled sharply in surprise- weren't the lists normally in alphabetical order? I had been _so_ sure it would have been me first...

Hermione walked slowly over to the stool where Dumbledore waited and sat down. The hat came over her head-

'RAVENCLAW!'

Loud roars issued from the long table draped with blue and bronze on the far right side of the Hall, but the rest of us looked on, stunned.

'What the bloody hell was that?' Ron whispered furiously to Harry. 'She's supposed to be in Gryffindor!'

'I dunno,' Harry replied, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he watched Dumbledore gently usher a rather dazed looking Hermione off the platform and to her new House. 'But I remember something about Hermione saying something about how the Hat wanted to put her in Ravenclaw that one time...'

Ron opened his mouth angrily to continue arguing, his freckled face already a rather unflattering shade of burgundy but was cut off by Dumbledore's calm voice calling out another name.

'McDonald, Ronald!'

Ron shot us a look and stumbled his way over to Dumbledore, who awaited him with the Hat.

Dumbledore placed the Hat on his head, where it slipped downwards to his nose and he hastily shoved it upwards.

The Hat remained still for a long time, only twitching slightly in response to what looked like a string of violent muttered curses coming from Ron's mouth.

'What in Merlin is the Weasel doing?' Draco muttered beside me.

Seconds ticked by, with what was visible of Ron's face gradually turning into a somewhat unhealthy-looking shade of yellow-green and his knuckles turning white on the stool he gripped, before the Hat finally voiced its decision.

'SLYTHERIN!' it bellowed from the wide split just above its brim, the sound echoing throughout the vast space.

'WHAT?' Harry and Draco both spluttered from beside me, something which would've definitely caused suspicion had it not been drowned by the applause (and a few catcalls) from the table shrouded in silver and green.

'What the hell? He's a blood-traitor!' Draco whispered horrified, in a higher pitched voice from his normal one, and surprisingly, his face devoid of its usual sneer.

'I don't know what's going on...' Harry said, his emerald eyes trained on Ron's slightly punch drunk figure unwillingly dragging himself towards the Slytherin table.

It would have been comical if it wasn't all so confusing- it seemed that each leaden step he took towards the table required a tremendous amount of effort, and his complexion was becoming noticeably more ashen with each one.

Dumbledore cleared his throat rather pointedly in our direction and, remembering where we were, snapped our gaping mouths shut in unison in an attempt to retain at least some of our dignity.

Ignoring the still shell-shocked looks on our faces, he turned towards the parchment once more.

'Evans, Harry!'

Harry started, then unwillingly stepped over to the stage, allowing the Hat to be placed on top of (or in his case, over) his head.

'Fine, then,' Draco exhaled, watching him. 'At least with _Saint Potter_-'

'SLYTHERIN!'

Draco looked like he could have fainted.

The cheers from the Slytherin table rang throughout the Hall once more and Draco had finally calmed down some beside me and was now seething with a sort of resigned anger, his mouth set in a slight sneer once more.

'Good God,' he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, 'I can't wait to see what they do with me.'

Raising an eyebrow, I punched him lightly on the arm, to which he shot me glare. 'Suck it up, bro.'

He exhaled sharply in annoyance and raised his head in time to hear Dumbledore call out his false name.

'De Lioncourt, Draco!'

'Have fun in Hufflepuff,' I whispered to him, smirking and he staggered slightly in his steps towards the stool, only to continue on straight backed and Malfoy-like, not looking once in my direction.

I sighed to myself; there was only me left now. Why such suspense?

Gingerly, he sat down on the offered seat and Dumbledore placed the hat on his ridiculously blonde head.

There was a moment's silence, and then-

Draco twitched.

'GRYFFINDOR!'

I snorted; this was so not turning out anything like we expected.

Fizzy bubbles of excitement burned through my stomach- it was my turn next, my turn...

Draco walked to his cheering House table in much of the same manner as Ron, and I chuckled out loud at the sight of his defeated person. Of course, the grin on my face soon faded once I heard Dumbledore utter those portentous words.

"_De Lioncourt, Ariadne."_

I exhaled carefully, incredibly, incredibly aware of the hundreds of pairs of watching eyes following my every move as I slowly made my way to where Dumbledore waited, an odd twinkle in his eyes.

Cautiously, I lowered myself on to the chair and waited with extreme agitation for the Hat to be placed on my head.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity I felt something soft brush the top of my head and the view in front of me was eclipsed by a wall of black fabric as the Hat was lowered over my eyes.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence—so naturally I started panicking.

_Maybe I was too much of a Muggle to be Sorted after all..._

_**Now now Miss de Lioncourt, why such doubt?**_

I jumped a little in my seat, then relaxed as I grew more accustomed to the soft voice reverberating throughout my mind.

_Is that you Mr Hat? I'm sorry. I'm not really used to all of this, you know..._

_**I know. You have come a long way Miss de Lioncourt—as I have remarked to the last few I have just Sorted—and, well...**_

_Mr Hat, can I ask you something? The others—why did you Sort them into those Houses? I _know_ how they were sorted in 1997—_

_**And you were wondering why I chose to sort them in their wrong Houses? **_

_Yes._

There was a slight pause.

_**When I was first created by Godric Gryffindor during the time of the Founders it was for the purpose of selecting the students that shared traits that were in favour of the Founders—ah, I see that you have heard—or read—my last song, have you?**_

_Yeah... something about the Hogwarts founders dividing? And of the students of Hogwarts... uniting? Or we'll 'crumble from within'? Something like that? But wait, how do you know about it if you haven't created it yet?_

_**Time is irrelevant to me, Miss de Lioncourt. I simply exist.**_

_**But yes, that was the general intent I harboured when I created the song. I am condemned to split all of you Miss de Lioncourt, condemned to sentence you to a future where you turn against your own friends—such is the magic that Gryffindor placed in me.**_

_**Ah, is that impatience I sense?**_

_Please just get on with it._

_**Understand, however, it was never my intention to plant the seed of discord in each of you—nor discrimination. This is especially important for **_**you**_**, de Lioncourt—I see what you have to do. Unity...is something that simply cannot be disregarded.**_

_So, what, you placed the others in different Houses so that they'd realize that all this 'segregation' crap's complete nonsense?_

_**In brief summary.**_

_...Are you going to do the same to me?_

_**No. You... you I will Sort. **_

_**Answer me this, Miss de Lioncourt—what House do you honestly believe you would suit?**_

_You're asking _me_ this? Isn't this _your_ job? _

_Well... I guess... Slytherin?_

_**That is an option I am also considering...**_

I winced.

_**Ah, you disapprove?**_

_You only asked me what House I'd think I'd suit. I never said I would like it._

_**Interesting... now, this is a dilemma...**_

_**You are... reckless, I see that. You do not think things through. To the point of stupidity.**_

_Wow, thanks, so much._

_**Not very academic either, hm? Illogical... too illogical... you jump to conclusions often...**_

_With good reason!_

_**Secretive, deceptive... my, my, **_**cunning**_**... how very Slytherinesque of you...**_

_Get on with it._

_**Impatient... naive...**_

_Are you just gonna sit there and insult me this whole time?_

_**Quick to anger, too...loyal, though, and you have quite a solid feeling for justice, something that I've rarely seen...**_

_Oh my God this is the longest Sorting I've ever read/ been to._

_**You care deeply for those close to you... and a fierce protectiveness, I see that...**_

_If you say so._

_**Slightly narcissistic—are you sure you and Mr Malfoy are not related?**_

I growled out loud.

_**And kindness, that is there also.**_

_**Interesting...**_

'GRYFFINDOR!'

I started in my seat at the unexpected announcement, which had been a change from the soft voice whispering in my mind.

Yanking the Hat off my head with relief, the tight knot in my chest loosening, I turned to face the applauding scarlet and gold table with a dizzy smile on my face.

I was sorted into Gryffindor! (:D)

I swear if I knew how to do cartwheels, I would've done it right then and there.

Dumbledore faced me with a similar smile on his face. "Well done," he told me quietly. "As Head of Gryffindor House, I personally believe the Hat was quite right in its decision."

I gave him a wide smile. "Thanks, professor."

After I tripped my way to the Gryffindor table, and planted myself on the seat next to Draco, he gave me a long look.

"What?" I asked him irritably, my mood abruptly plummeting downwards.

"Did you have fun up there?" he asked me pointedly.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "I didn't take that long, did I?"

"Four minutes and eleven seconds exactly, I timed it."

I turned my attention to the gleaming golden cutlery in front of me noticing how it reflected my own face back at me. Was that really me? Eyes heavily ringed with a sleepless purple, less than manageable hair and that unhealthily pale pallor that contrasted weirdly with my normally russet skin?

I guess time- travel didn't do much for the complexion.

"The Sorting Hat decided to give me a little history lesson while I was up there," I murmured to Draco, absentmindedly swiping at the dark smudges underneath my eyes, as if to wipe them off. "So I guess that must've taken up some time... not to mention the fact that it basically insulted me for the remainder..."

Draco snorted. "Why am I not surprised..."

I sighed tiredly then turned back towards the lectern where Dippet was mumbling another speech that he droned in his reedy monotone, before clapping his hands unenthusiastically once and causing the plates to be filled with food.

"Thank Merlin, I'm starving!" I moaned grabbing something of every plate that I could reach and piling them on my platter. I only hoped I was just imagining the drool coming down my chin.

Malfoy watched me with an expression of intense disgust as I ferociously began to attack the leg of mutton in my hands. "Do you plan on breathing any time soon?"

I waved the leg at him threateningly. "Shut up." I told him through a mouth full of mashed potato and beans.

Draco sighed heavily and resumed cutting his lean venison like the proper pure blood he was. "I cannot believe you could possibly be my sister..."

I ignored him, and continued eating—I was insanely hungry, but then again, when was I not?

As I tore another chunk out of the steak fritters in front of me, I winced.

The headache and nausea from earlier was back, and worse than before. Maybe I could get another tonic from Madame Laroche later...

Some of the people around us were giving us curious looks as well, but none attempted to start conversation with us, which I thought was quite strange seeing as this was Gryffindor house after all.

Perhaps the forties was simply a much more conservative time than to what I was used to- or maybe they were just intimidated by the dark waves of discontent practically rolling off Draco as he sat, glowering at his spinach.

I nudged him with my elbow. 'Stop sulking, you're scaring everyone off.'

Instead of doing what I asked (obviously), he turned his glare to me instead. 'Excuse me de- Ari, if I happen to be a little upset right now.' He pushed his plate away from him, throwing his napkin down disgustedly.

'What, because you got Sorted here?' I asked him with annoyance, lowering my voice so that the others glancing over at us with looks of interest wouldn't overhear.

The food on our plates melted off and were replaced by a number of sweet items, each craving for our attention, but which we both ignored.

Draco didn't reply to the question, only scowling darker.

_What a woman._ I scowled mirroring his expression, then sighed. 'Look Mal- _Draco_, I... don't really know you, okay?'

He glanced at me briefly, a blonde brow going up. Clearly, that was not what he had been expecting I would say.

It was true, though. Draco in the books had always been a sort of...a minor character, ish, with not much insight into his view of things, his version of the story. At the time I hadn't cared.

But now, I guess it was worth it to be a little more considerate to the 'bad guy'.

'And I don't pretend to." I continued. "But look, whatever it is you hate about Ron, Harry, Gryffindor or me—you have to stop this."

His steely grey eyes flicked over to mine, narrowed and his mouth parted in anger, but I ignored him.

"I mean, from what I can tell, we'll be spending the entire school year with each other, and if we don't cooperate, if we don't work together in this, then we'll never get this over and done with and we'll never be able to find a way back home. So..." I let the sentence trail off awkwardly into the otherwise busy air, thick with the sounds of the students' conversations. God.

I swear I wasn't this much of a sap when I got here. _Pumpkin juice must be getting to me..._

Draco let a blonde brow rise. " 'So' what?" he mocked.

I grit my teeth. "_So_, stop being such an ass and maybe I won't have to Avada you in your sleep."

Ah, much better.

The eyebrows shot up and he stared at me incredulously.

"Are you sure the Hat Sorted you properly?" he asked me dubiously.

I merely looked at him in reply.

He sighed, turning back to the table to reach for a bonbon, only to find it melt into nothingness just inches before his fingers.

"Fine." he said at last after he'd glowered at the empty plates and goblets for a few more seconds. "Fine. Whatever, de L—_Ari_—I'll do it."

"But—" he continued, holding up a slender finger warningly before I could say anything, "this doesn't mean anything. In fact, it means absolutely nothing—I assure you, just because I will attempt not to display my... distaste for this _House_ and those in it blatantly- that does not mean that I do not think otherwise."

His grey eyes bore holes into my own like splinters of ice and I found I couldn't really look away—it was almost fascinating, his hate.

"We are not friends."

And suddenly his eyes were off my own, and I blinked, regaining my composure.

"Of course not," I told him, a small smile creeping over my face as he shot me a dirty look.

"We're siblings."

* * *

The sounds of my feet thudding sluggishly against the stone steps rang in my ears as I followed Draco to 'our' Common Room. It was late. I was tired.

And there was still so much to discuss.

"_Igpay Atinlay," _Draco wearily gave the Fat Lady the password, told to us earlier by one of our House Prefects.

The Lady's painted eyes appraised Draco quite thoroughly, and apparently deciding that she rather liked what she saw, gave him a lazy grin. "Of course my darling! Enter!"

Draco ignored her as he entered; I shot her a glare as she swung closed. _Cougar._

Yawning, the youngest Malfoy slumped on the nearest sofa, not even bothering to look graceful this time and he swept his blonde hair tiredly from his face.

"Red," he muttered, rubbing his eyes furiously. "What is it with Gryffindors and bloody _red_?"

I remained standing, examining the room.

Fireplace, twin armchairs next to it, a small oval coffee table in between, and a long couch on which Draco currently resided.

Portraits (moving, of course), tapestries and paintings hung about the scarlet and gold walls (Draco had not been exaggerating) and in the center of the ceiling hung an ornate brass-and-glass chandelier, similar to the ones at Grimmauld Place but less ornate.

The air was warm and slightly musty, and smelled a little like cinnamon, which suited me just fine.

I liked it. I liked the moth eaten furniture, and the headache inducing, dizzying patterns woven into the crimson draping.

There really was no other way to describe it: it was very _Gryffindor_.

I smirked. _This must be _killing_ Malfoy_, I thought with—regrettably—some modicum of glee.

I sat down on the armchair to the left of Draco, tucking my legs underneath me. "So, what do you think?" I asked him, keeping my voice carefully neutral.

"Shut up."

"Huh. You provide a rather convincing argument, I'll give you that."

Apparently Malfoy wasn't tired enough to shoot me a heart-stopping glare, and I took that as a good sign to continue.

"Okay, that's good, you're awake. Now tell me... about Riddle, what do we plan on doing? I mean, I know we haven't worked out anything yet, but... anything?"

"Get to him. Find the locket. Kill him. Go home." was the eloquent reply.

"Kill him? But Dumbledore said..."

Draco sighed, sitting up. "D—Ari, it's the _Dark Lord_. Maybe Goody Goody Dumbledore might be against the idea of offing him, but the rest of us don't—not even _Saint Potter_." He spat the name out hatefully. "The bastard deserves to die."

"I-I guess..."

Snorting in derision at my doubt, Draco, turned back into the couch, stretching languidly on its surface.

Was there such a thing as 'deserving to die', as Draco had said? Honestly... I'd have liked to believe it. Things would be... incredibly easier if that were so.

But then again, we'd all done things we deserved to die for, haven't we?

Life would never be that easy.

"And now?" I spoke quietly into the silence. "What's the plan for now?"

"Now?" Draco replied, his voiced muffled by the back of the couch. "We sleep, you idiot."

I sighed, but took him on his word, standing up and yawning to head for my Dormitory, while patting the black folder Hermione had Shrunk for us in my pocket. Each of us had a copy after casting the _Geminio_ spell on it a few times earlier, and I made a mental note to have a more thorough read of it later.

"Alright. Goodnight." I said.

Draco didn't even bother to grace me with a reply.

I sighed.

_Life would never be that easy..._

**A/N: Okay, there. Didja like? I personally am in love with the title of this chapter... it sounds quite a lot like the title of this story...**

**If you're wondering why this is Chapter 7 when there are only six chapters that you can see, it's because I deleted the previous one (it wasn't actually important, just a flashback). I'll probably add it at the end again as a bonus chap when I finish (and I WILL finish).**

**Oh, yeah, and I can say with 100% certainty that Tom Marvolo Riddle will be in the next chapter.**

**Thanks guys,**

**N**


	8. Murderous Tendencies

**Disclaimer: **Wait… hang on… wait for it…! Aw. Nope, sorry, still don't own Harry Potter.

**A/N: **See, I updated waaay faster than normal… I _can_ do it!

I introduced another OC into the story… sort of. You'll notice I won't really talk about House/Main character interactions much, because that requires a LOT of OC making, and I really dislike too many in one story… this OC's important, though, so bear with me.

This chap's also quite Harry-centric, to balance out all the Draco-nessness I've been adding, so…enjoy!

OH! AND THOMAS MARVOLO RIDDLE FINALLY MAKES AN APPEARANCE! YAHOO!

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 8: Murderous Tendencies**

_Life would never be that easy._

I yawned, half heartedly covering my mouth to stifle the sound.

Hazy currents of musky rosehip oil and sandalwood floated- or rather _poured_- into my wide open mouth and I choked, earning myself a rather bored looking glance from Draco on my left.

_This is so stupid_, I thought as the coughs subsided into gentle dry-retching. _Why in Merlin's name would I, no, _anyone_, need to know this stuff?_

'Bond yourself to your Inner Eye!' the rather unconventional Professor Ilyeria cried as she swooped around the room, tendrils of her grey and brown hair escaping the loose chignon at the base of her neck, held in place by her wand. 'Feel its Magic entwine with your own- become one with the Orb!'

Hastily wiping off some drool that had gathered at the corner of my mouth, I tried to snap myself awake, straightening up abruptly in my chair to stare vacantly once more at that damned object.

'See not with your _eyes_, but with your Eye! Your Eye!'

_I'll show you what to do with your Eye,_ I thought viciously, then sighed, turning my attention to the crystal in front of me.

I wasn't the only one slacking off in this lesson; several of the Hufflepuffs that shared the lesson with us and probably all of the Gryffindors were in the same position, their eyes (and Eye) glazed over and glassy.

Ayayay.

Even Draco appeared to be less of the uptight sod he normally was, his head propped up on one arm, slumping at the table as he visibly struggled to stay awake. One eye drooped shut, followed by the other and he stayed like that for a while before abruptly propelling off the table, muttering dark curses under his breath.

Today, this 2nd of September, began my first ever day of classes at Hogwarts, my new start as an official student.

Aside from Divination, I'd already had two subjects earlier today- Transfiguration (taught by Professor Dumbledore himself) and Herbology (taught by a rather short but cheerful man called Professor Radvire), both with the Ravenclaws, which meant that I had a lot of time being bossed around by Hermione on 'proper' technique in magic.

'_So... like this?'_

_'No! You're supposed to twirl _then_ swish to do it _properly_- haven't you been listening to Professor Dumbledore? See- now watch carefully- like _this_-'_

But, I had to admit, she knew her stuff and I managed to successfully cast the spell we had been learning at least twice by the end of the lesson, much to her's and Dumbledore's approval.

So the whole spell thing... definitely getting better.

Dumbledore had been a great teacher in 1997 by helping me learn this stuff, and his self in 1944 was no exception either (though only difference, of course, being that there was a lesser chance of me getting horribly disfigured in these lessons). As much as I sucked at actually performing the magic, the theory and mechanics behind it fascinated me- it was almost scientific, the thought process behind the flashy results.

Herbology passed without much incident (that is, if you call almost being strangled by a Venomous Tentacula 'without incident') and it was only this Divination class left before lunch, thank Merlin.

Draco's head was slowly sliding off its place on his hand again, I saw with a certain degree of amusement, his nose inching closer and closer to the surface of the table...

'Thank you class, I believe you may go.'

I kicked Draco in the shin underneath the table and he yelped, snapping back to full alertness in an instant.

'What the bloody hell was that for?' he growled at me, eyes blazing.

"Lunch." was the brief reply, and I stood up, making my way to the stepladder that provided an exit out of the classroom, Malfoy muttering curse words under his breath behind me the whole while.

When I reached the Great Hall, situating myself in my normal spot with Draco begrudgingly sitting next to me, I immediately began to shovel the food available on my plate and into my mouth, completely unaware of what I was eating and managing to not to care.

Draco shot me a look of barely contained revulsion and I gave him a questioning look behind a mouthful of steak and kidney pie. "Whargh?"

He shook his head in annoyance, daintily cutting up his brussel sprouts with a fork as he replied. "I'm sorry, was I _not_ supposed to notice the shreds of various animal organs dangling from your face?"

Irritated at his _unnecessary_ sarcasm, I swallowed, wiping my mouth off with a napkin before I spoke. "Shut up—that was _not_ appreciated, just so you know—and I'm only eating like this because I need to hurry to the Library before our meeting in the Room of Requirement later. Didn't you feel it?"

I was referring to the fake Galleons Hermione had somehow managed to charm again, which she had given to us during our earlier lessons this morning.

My pocket that I had put it in had burned sometime in the beginning of Divination, and when I checked the time for our little group rendezvous had been inscribed on the outside of the golden coin.

I'd assumed Draco had checked it too.

"Yes, but why the Library? For God's sake woman, you're starting to sound like Granger…"

"I need to borrow something I think—no, I _know_ will be extremely important later on. Think of it as…" I paused, searching for the right word, "research. I'll meet you in the Room later, okay? Be nice!" I yelled out as I left the Hall, leaving a behind very much incensed Draco at the Gryffindor table.

_Oh, he'll live._

Humming a soft tune to myself, I pulled out a rather ragged piece of yellowed parchment from the inside of my school robes, tapping its surface once with my wand.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

"_Are you sure I can borrow this?" I asked Harry, dumbfounded as he handed over the Marauders' Map over to me, my fingers closing over its silky dry surface reluctantly. This was _his_, one of the few mementos he had of his parents after all…_

"_Yeah, go ahead. You'll need it more than I would, anyway. Just return it when you're done," he said, a grin spreading over his face as I took it with a poorly disguised look of awe._

_I looked at him. "Wow…thanks…"_

"_No problem."_

The inky patterns spreading over the paper caught my attention, turning my mind away from what had happened after dinner last night and back to the present.

"Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs," I murmured quietly as my eyes roved over the intricate black lines depicting Hogwarts shown on the Map, searching for the location to my intended destination. "Show me the Library…"

Tracing a path with my eyes, and double checking for the colored dots that displayed the presence of anyone in Hogwarts, I half-jogged, half walked through the corridors until I found myself in front of a massive, arc shaped entrance which I knew led to the Library.

Strolling purposefully through the entrance, I stopped immediately almost as soon as I entered, my mouth falling open.

The Hogwarts' library was incredible- massive, of course, and daunting- but what really surprised me was the amount of _books_ that it held, either stacked neatly by alphabetical order on the shelves, or simply piled haphazardly on desks and tables.

'Watch out!'

I dodged the stack of books floating in midair towards me, and gave an 'I'm okay' thumbs up to its owner who shot a me an apologetic glance as they continued to chase after their rapidly moving belongings.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I looked around once more, wondering where to begin searching.

Alphabetical order...S...

I strolled around the tall shelves, eyes scanning the spines of each book intently.

_P... Practical Pranks & Jokes With Eliza Goshawk...Q...Quidditch Through The Ages by Kenniworthy Whisp... R... Rune Dictionary: The Thorough Companion...S...S!_

Gasping quietly in slight surprise, I slipped into the slight gap between the shelves, examining each dusty volume for the book I needed.

When my search turned out to be fruitless, however, I was ready to kick the shelf in frustration.

_Where the hell was it? Of course it wouldn't be anywhere where _I_ could find it... But when the sodding _Dark Lord_ needs it, the books just materialise in front of him, is that it?_ I thought sourly, exhaling in a big rush of air.

_What on earth were the Hogwarts staff thinking, anyway?_ I continued my rant. _Just shoving Dark stuff like that right under the kids' noses, they could at least attempt to hide it, or even just _restrict_ the students' access..._

The answer hit me so hard and so fast I actually gasped for air at the end of my revelation.

_Oh Merlin._

I facepalmed right where I was, earning myself a few curious glances from the other students around me.

_Of course! 'Restricted' access! It's in the Restricted Section!_

Skidding my way out from the 'S' shelves, I quickly made my way to the very back of the library, the darkest part that I was sure held the Restricted Section.

Biting my lip, I glanced around furtively to see if anyone had noticed anything suspicious- after all, students needed the express permission and signature of a teacher in order to enter, didn't they?

No one seemed to see anything, though, for the area around these particular shelves was mostly deserted save for the occasional first year that happened to wander in for accident- and even they knew better than to linger.

So I took a deep breath, put my hand on the cold metal handle that opened the barred door, unbolted the door and slipped quietly inside.

My first impression was that it was dark. At least, compared to the rest of the Library.

The shelves were huge, bigger than normal, and the entire section was lit only by the dim light of a few lanterns that floated high above my head.

Tall ladders leant against the bookcases and I hoped that wherever the book was, it was somewhere I could easily reach.

Exhaling sharply, I reached for my wand inside my robes, bringing out in front of me.

"_Lumos_," I whispered, and the tip of the wand burst into flames.

"Oh! Ah—ah—erm—_aguamenti!_" I half shouted frantically, brandishing the wand hysterically in front of me and I nearly started to cry as a whole jet of water, similar to a fire hose, shot out of the tip of my wand, effectively dousing the flame, but flooding the entire floor of the Section.

"Dammit! Oh, Merlin—_finite incantatem_!" I said, and the jet slowed down into a light trickle.

Sighing with barely repressed relief, I shook off my wand, eyeing the sopping floor with a guilty expression.

_I'd clean it up, but I'd probably end up setting the whole library on fire._

"Alright. Take two," I muttered to myself, flicking the wand again. _Lumos!_ I thought.

The tip of the wand flickered, then slowly strengthened into a pearly white glow that illuminated the path in front of me, its light reflected on the surface of the water.

Inwardly thanking whichever entity that had decided to give me a break, _for once_, I sloshed my way forward, examining the titles written on the spines of the books.

Once I found my way into the 'S' section, I began to scan them more closely, attempting to decipher each of the faded words inscribed.

_Sacrificial Rites and Their Use in Necromancy… Le Sang des Damnés… Sonnets of a Sorcerer (_someone had obviously misplaced that, it was in the wrong order)_…_ ah, there we are.

_Secrets of the Darkest Art._

The book Hermione had procured during her sixth year, the book that held all the information on both making and destroying Horcruxes. The book that could possibly have been the source of all the misery caused for the duration of Lord Voldemort's reign of tyranny over the Wizarding world.

Right in front of my nose.

Breathing heavily, I fumbled around the shelf, attempting to pry it out with unskilled fingers; it was packed so closely next to the other books.

After a while, though, I managed to tug it out of its place on the shelf and I opened it eagerly, examining the contents inside.

The first page I saw appeared to be covered in bloodstains (which I actually thought was quite cliché); I suppressed the urge to retch and turned to the contents page instead.

"Horcruxes, Horcruxes, Horcruxes…" I murmured quietly to myself, running a finger along the list. "Page 595."

I flipped to the page as quickly as I could and winced as I saw a double page spread of a man covered in blood, his body contorted in what could clearly be described as agony, judging by the expression on his face. It was a gruesome, and disturbingly detailed sight, and my stomach flip flopped queasily as I turned to the next page.

_Horcruxes_

_One of the most evile and complex of all magickes, Horcruxes are only created by the darkest and moste powerful of wizards-_

Well, no duh.

Footsteps echoed from somewhere around the corner of the Restricted Section, and I jumped, abruptly shutting the book and listening intently.

Yep, there was no mistake about it—someone was approaching, the light thuds of their feet as they hit the marble floor steadily getting louder the closer they came.

Vociferating a number of well-worded curses in my head, I looked around, frantically finding a place to put the book—if it was a teacher who was coming, then I definitely couldn't be seen with the book on friggin' _Horcruxes_, of all things—and yet, I couldn't simply _leave _it here after going through all that trouble to get it, and what if another student found it?

The person was moving closer, and I was running out of time.

I extinguished the light of my wand and waved it at the book, shouting the charm _Velieris!_ in my mind and desperately hoping nothing would burst into flames this time I casted a spell.

To my immense relief, the enchantment actually worked and the cover of the book morphed into two hands holding a bright red apple on a plain black background. Though I doubted anyone in this era (or book, for that matter) would get the reference, I hoped it would instigate the same instinctive repulsion in whoever saw it as it did to me (**A/N: **_I actually don't have anything against the book, guys)._

That and I had my reservations about the idea of Lord Voldemort being the type to read teen romance novels.

Hastily, I slammed it back into the gap where I had originally found it and made to run in the other direction, managing to get at least two steps before slipping on the drenched floor and landing on my butt, skidding forwards and sending splashes of water everywhere.

I groaned as I heard the rusty lock of the deadbolt creak; so much for a quick escape.

_Oh crap._

Like a deer caught in the headlights, I froze in my position half up and half off the floor, not turning around even as I felt a pair of acidic eyes bore into the back of my skull.

I gulped;_ okay, Ari, just turn around and think up of some kind of excuse…_

My unwilling feet shuffled towards the person's direction and as I finally worked up the courage to look into their face I realized that that was a complete mistake.

_Oh dear..._

The person was tall, very tall, and even though he was standing motionless against the door I could just tell that there was a certain stiffness, a sort of hard grace in his movements (if he moved, he was as still as a statue at the moment) just by looking at him.

As my eyes continued to rove over his face I noticed all the wrong things: his straight, narrow nose, high cheekbones, oddly stern dark grey eyes, perfectly sculpted lips…

_Damn if I didn't know where _those_ thoughts were going…_

Tiny beads of sweat were forming around my temples from the stress of it all and—oh my God, I was _not _chanting the word 'rape' repeatedly in my mind…

The person was gorgeous. Devastatingly so—I guess it wouldn't be too far of a stretch to call him _beautiful _even, if it weren't for a certain subdued feral glint in his eye and the barely there sneer on his lips.

He was dazzling.

And… he was also the most evil wizard ever to walk the halls of Hogwarts since Salazar Slytherin himself.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

**Lord Voldemort.**

"Um… hi?"

_Oh Ari._

I cringed the moment the words left my lips.

An ink black brow arched elegantly on Voldemort's face—the first movement I'd seen him make ever since he entered the room.

"What are you doing?" His voice, low and yet strangely commanding, made me jump. I cringed inwardly at the thought of answering.

"I…erm…ah… well, you see, I was…." After the third ellipsis, it became quite clear to me that I wasn't going to think up some great excuse any time soon, so out of pure desperation, I switched tactics. "Well what do you think? I'm in a library, so… so I'm borrowing some books!"

A good offense being the best defense?

Maybe not.

Those strangely stormy grey eyes surveyed the destruction around my awkward self before returning to bore into my own once more.

"I see. You do realize, or course, that this is the Restricted Section—in case the name is lacking in clarity, that means that only students with express permission given from a teacher may enter."

"Oh right," I said, somewhat obliviously, hauling myself to my feet to face him. "And you're one of those students, yeah?"

Riddle's mouth tightened considerably, nostrils flaring as he looked me straight in the eye. "I am a Prefect." he informed me coldly, as if that explained everything.

"Oh."

A brief and graceless silence followed my eloquent speech, and I coughed awkwardly to dispel the quiet.

"Erm… okay then… well, y'know, it was nice meeting you…" I said, taking a few steps away from him in an attempt to leave (never mind the fact that it was in the opposite direction to the door), my feet sloshing through the water on the floor as I moved.

"Stop."

The single syllable was enough to make me freeze in my tracks, and I could've sworn that it was secretly a spell in disguise that was supposed to make all my internal organs stop functioning—because I'm telling you, they did the moment the word left his lips.

Voldemort stood motionlessly for a moment—while I panicked frantically in front of him, of course—before taking a few graceful steps forward towards me, the statue coming to life.

If I was panicking before, then there was absolutely no word suitable enough to describe what the hell I was doing now.

"Before you so abruptly depart, would you care to explain to me first why the entire floor is covered with water?" Riddle inquired politely, having stopped just a few feet away from me, his eyes never leaving my own—_dammit_, did the man ever _blink?_

"Huh?" I asked him distractedly, "What—_oh._ Well then… I …y'know…." I paused, tensely casting my mind around for any excuse _any_ excuse whatsoever…

"Erm… those _dratted_ Nargles, wreaking havoc all over the place, it's ridiculous, really…." I laughed nervously even as I suppressed a grimace at the sheer lameness of my own words.

Riddle sighed, obviously thinking he was dealing with someone quite incompetent—which he probably was, I thought to myself dryly. "Very well. Since it is your first day at this school, Miss de Lioncourt, I will not penalize you for your actions. However," he continued, the threat of a warning evident in both his voice and his eyes, "it is my duty to warn you that this sort of behavior is not tolerable at Hogwarts, regardless of status or…_situation_."

"How do you know my name?" I interrupted him thoughtlessly, genuinely confused. _Oh Merlin's pants, has he used Legilimency on me already?_

Riddle gave me a frosty stare in annoyance, obviously disliking my questioning. "It was announced at last night's Sorting if you recall," he replied coldly, his tone clipped.

I immediately felt like the village idiot once I realized my stupidity—and once again suppressed the urge to facepalm. "Er…well, yeah." I blinked.

It appeared my incoherency seemed to be getting worse with each passing second I spent with Voldemort Jr. "Erm… I s'ppose you aren't planning on telling me yours, then…?"

Not that I needed to know it.

Voldemort gave me a long, calculating look as we were bathed in silence once more; I fidgeted under his stare.

"Tom Riddle."

_Right. I suppose you don't exactly go around introducing yourself as 'Imma Be A Future Dark Lord' huh?_

"Yeah…" I saw the odd look that Riddle gave me and realized that perhaps my reaction wasn't entirely appropriate, "I mean, oh really? Heh, heh…" I chuckled nervously at his expression, which had noticeably darkened.

Silence reigned once more and as I continued to look thoughtlessly into Voldemort's eyes, I became suddenly aware of something, _something_, in my mind pressing against the barrier of my consciousness and my eyes widened as I realized what was going on.

Immediately drawing on my past lessons with Snape, I Occluded my mind against Riddle, shielding my thoughts from his own and I caught his eyes narrow slightly in surprise—the movement was so subtle I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't been staring into them.

_His eyes are pretty…_

I began to sweat; I definitely had _not_ perfected my Occlumency yet, there had been no time to do so when Mundungus Fletcher had betrayed us, and I didn't know how long I could last…

I needed a distraction, something to take Riddle's concentration away from me so that I could make a run for it, _come on_ Ari—

"Riddle!" I blurted. "Did you know… Gods of Death love apples?"

_Ohwhatthefudge._

To my indescribable shock and stupefaction, it worked; Riddle blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Um, nothing. Oh, would you look at the time (I wasn't wearing a watch), I really must depart for classes—well, it was nice meeting you!"

Not being stupid enough to wait for a reply, I pushed past him, slipping through the entrance to the Restricted Section and power walking my way outside.

Once I was outside of the Library, though, I broke into a run.

_Ari, Ari, what have you done? _I inwardly berated myself all the while, as I ran up several flights of stairs to get to our meeting in the Room of Requirement, to which I was already exceedingly late to.

Panting heavily as I reached the corridor where I knew the Room was located (after a hasty consultation with the Marauders' Map) I stopped at the blank patch of wall located between the two tapestries of Sir Boris the Befuddled and Morgana the Maniacal.

_I need the place where the others from 1997 are… I need the place where the others from 1997 are…_ I thought as I paced in front of the wall three times to enter.

Before my eyes, the stone melted into a large, mahogany door shaped like an arch, and I reached over, yanking at the door handle as I slipped inside.

The door fell shut with a hollow _thud_ behind me.

"Ari," Harry said from his place on one of the couches in the center of the room, passing a hand over his eyes wearily, "where have you been?"

He stopped when he saw the expression on my pale, blanched face, and immediately, concern shot through his tired eyes. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"I…" I trailed off, searching for the words. "I think I just screwed us over."

Draco let out a loud snort opposite Harry. "Well _obviously_, Ari, the only real question is _how._"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry responded automatically, his jade eyes never leaving mine. "Ari?"

I hadn't even noticed the jab to snap back at the blonde Slytherin/ Gryffindor; instead I just answered the question.

"I just had a secret rendezvous in the Library with Lord Voldemort."

"_You what_?"

Ron, from his spot in front of the fireplace, sprang to his feet, flaming red hair mussed up wildly.

"I mean—I didn't say that right—I mean I just met Tom Riddle!" I clarified frantically, beginning to pace in front of the others jumpily. "I was in the Restricted Section—"

"Whoa, wait, what were you doing in the R—"

"_Borrowing a book Ronald, will-you-pay-attention!_" I snapped at him irritably before continuing on. "And next thing I know, old Whats-His-Face appears and he's all like, 'Only students of statues and Perfect situations can enter' or something like that, and I'm like, 'oh really?', and then he just _stares_ at me like a flippin' chameleon or somethin'—"

"Relax, Ari," Hermione said soothingly from next to Ron, where she sat atop one of the plump pillow- cushions the Room provided. "That's hardly bad—both Harry and Ron met Riddle too last night—"

"You haven't heard the worst yet," I said grimly, stopping my pacing and folding my arms across my chest to face them.

I took a deep, steadying breath. "Riddle… he's a Legilimens. He used it on me."

Silence, yet again, fell across the room—I hated it. I felt like I was drowning in the quiet.

Hermione's eyes had widened fearfully; she was twisting her hands together in anxiety. Ron was less subtle—his mouth had fallen wide open as he heard the last words, and it had stayed open.

I moved my eyes to Harry and Draco and saw that they both had relatively similar expressions—lips pursed in twin frowns.

"Did… did he see anything?" Harry finally broke the silence, much to my immeasurable relief. "Us?"

I shook my head. "No, he didn't. By… some miracle, I managed to keep my head clear for about the five seconds he was inside, then I distracted him and made a run for it."

The tension in the room suddenly lessened ostensibly; it was like everyone had let out a collective sigh of relief.

"Blimey, Ari," Ron sighed, thumping his chest a couple of times with his fist, "You don't just spring something like that on a person!"

"For once, I agree with you Weasley; that was completely unnecessary…" muttered Draco.

"Wait—why are you acting so carefree about this? I—I drew attention to us!" I said, looking around at them. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it part of the plan _not_ to stand out?"

"Well, if you'd come in here a little earlier, de Lioncourt," Draco gave me a pointed look, " instead of having pleasant little chats with future mass murderers, you would've been aware that there have been a few… changes to the original plan."

"Changes? Like what?"

Harry rubbed his eyes as he blinked a couple of times—it was only then that I noticed the dark, purple bags underneath the normally bright jade. "You'd better sit down for this, Ari, this'll take a while to explain."

There was a sudden pressure on the back of my legs and I looked down to see a plush, purple beanbag materialize behind me, courtesy of the Room.

Sitting down, with my legs crossed Indian-style, and my hands laid expectantly on my lap, I waited for the others to start.

The green-eyed wizard stood up, and began pacing around the room agitatedly, and I watched him with some concern.

"Ok. So, we know from reading Riddle's profile in the black book that Dumbledore gave us—"

"Wait, there was a profile on Riddle?" I interrupted.

Harry scratched the back of his head uncertainly. "Er… yes? Hang on—you guys have all read the book, right?" he said, turning to everyone else in the room.

A somewhat skeptical silence met his answer, and Ron coughed embarrassedly.

"I was gonna get to it, Harry, I swear…"

"Yeah, me too," I muttered, averting my eyes.

"Are you serious?" Harry asked, genuinely confused. "Even _you_, Hermione?"

"I-I…" Hermione fumbled around before finally burying her face in her hands, her hair sticking up in a wild halo around her head. "I'm so sorry Harry! I didn't get a chance to, I fell asleep!"

"Okay, then, well…" Harry mumbled. "I guess… no more references to that, then…"

Ron rolled his eyes , standing up and clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder good- naturedly. "We don't need a book to know that the bloke's an evil git, mate."

He let out a tired smile. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Anyway," he continued, resuming his pacing. "From what we know of Voldemort, Riddle's future, is that he doesn't exactly care for his associates, yeah? Nor is he the kind of person that would take an interest in just anyone, and apparently, it's a lifelong trait. Even though around his fellow Slytherins, he acts like a—"

"Polite two-faced slimeball," muttered Ron darkly.

Harry blinked, then nodded. "Well, _that_, you can tell that they bore him, completely."

"And how does that affect us?" I asked him.

"Well, I was thinking…" here a sly smile crept to his normally honest face. "That we should draw as much attention to ourselves as possible."

My eyebrow quirked upwards. "Say what?"

_Maybe I hadn't heard him properly…_

"As much attention as we can. Capture his interest, intrigue him. That way, Riddle will be forced to come to us, because that's just the kind of person he is—he despises being kept in the dark about things."

Warily, I continued to listen; it almost disturbed me just how much Harry knew the inner workings of Voldemort's mind—at this rate he'd be predicting his next moves.

"And then what?" I asked.

"And then keep his interest. That way there's a greater—not much, mind you—but a greater chance of us getting closer to him, or at least figure out the basic gist of what he's planning, and where he is—and then we can form a better strategy, the more we find out about him."

"Where he is? Couldn't you just use the Map?"

Harry shook his head. "Not when he leaves Hogwarts grounds. And he might, if that's where the location of the Second Locket is."

Hermione added, "The Map doesn't show everything in Hogwarts anyway."

We all stared at her.

"It doesn't?" Ron asked.

"Well, no, of course not." she said knowledgeably, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her eyes. "Even though its magic is highly advanced, not to mention complex, we shouldn't forget that its creators also had limitations in their knowledge. I checked during our third year, Harry—the location of the Chamber of Secrets wasn't written anywhere on the Map, because there was no way the manufacturers could have known about it."

A short, awkward silence passed.

"What?" questioned Hermione, staring at all of us.

"Nothing." I said, a little unnerved. " So basically, catch his attention, get the basic gist of his plan and then find the locket, yeah?"

"Take it right out from under You-Know-Who's non existent nose," Ron said proudly.

"I suppose." Draco's voice was indifferent—and I was reminded forcibly of the conversation we had had the previous night.

"_The bastard deserves to die."_

They were really going to kill him?

"Well… that's pretty…" I trailed off, not sure of what to think. There seemed to be a lot of holes in this plan. "How sure are you of even getting Riddle's attention, anyway? It's not like he's the type to take an interest other people's well being and day to day activities…"

"Well, thankfully, you've already done most of that for us," Draco said, reclining back in his seat lazily. "Not many people know Occlumency, so, well done, you've captured his attention." He put his hands together in a small, sarcastic round of applause, and I resisted the urge to throw something at him.

"Argh!"

"Anyway," continued Harry, ignoring the sight of Draco desperately trying to put out the flames in his hair as he stowed his wand safely back away into his robes, "That's not the only thing we're going to do to get closer to Riddle."

Hiding a smirk at Draco's singed blonde mop, I asked, "Oh?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I've been thinking about it a lot, ever since Dumbledore mentioned it to us, and even more so when we came here… Ron and I were talking about it last night as well, and we've decided that this—this might be the best thing to do."

"Which is?"

He sighed. "We're going to become Death Eaters."

"What? Are you insane? Why?"

"Well...if we manage to get into his group, we could get some idea of what he's planning, and what he's going to do. Not to mention...stop us for encountering any unexpected...surprises during the school year."

"But...Death Eaters? You?"

"Actually," Ron interrupted rather cheerfully, "they call themselves the 'Knights of Walpurgis', here in 1944."

I stared at him in disbelief. "You're joking. Who's the genius who came up with _that_ name?"

"Riddle himself, apparently," Ron said with a smirk. "You can tell why they decided to change it back in our time…"

"You know, Ron, that's actually quite an auspicious name to pick," Hermione launched into a lengthy speech about German history, much to Ron's displeasure, and I watched the two of them with some amusement.

"You don't think it'll work, do you?" Harry asked me quietly.

"I...I just think that you had better watch your back. I can't tell you what to do...and obviously you're more familiar with all of this than I am...but..." I chewed on the inside of my cheek. "Just try...be careful, alright?"

Harry smirked. "Don't I always."

* * *

_So… easily broken_… the Second Fate crooned as she fingered a Strand between her gnarled and twisted fingers. _So… breakable- _

_Enough_, ordered Her sister, the Third._ Do not attempt to fiddle with her Life anymore; all will come into place soon. Enough._ _Time cannot touch her; we are in sole control now. Let her be; she is beginning, although does not know it…_

_Beginning?_

_Beginning to accept her Fate._

* * *

I slipped quietly through the archway of the Library entrance, only the soft pads of my sneaker-clad feet audible in the deafening silence of the empty Hogwarts halls.

It was so quiet.

Breathing in the familiar musty smell of old parchment and paper that permeated the room, I strode forward, the tip of my wand alight and guiding my way in the half light of dawn.

Last night, I'd decided to get up early the next morning to get the book I'd disguised and hidden between the shelves in the Restricted Section, the one I'd been forced to leave behind when Riddle had barged in. I'd chosen to do it in the early morning rather than at night because, _damn,_ Hogwarts was a freaky place in the dark. Seriously.

I didn't know how Harry and the others had managed to do it, especially in their first year, but I was pretty sure that _I_ wasn't ready to take on Hogwarts at night. Not yet, anyway.

I reached the gate guarding the Restricted Section and tugged at the handle; it was locked.

_I guess they lock it at night, _I thought to myself, tugging my wand out from my sleeve.

Crossing my fingers, I aimed it at the door.

_Pleaseworkpleaseplease—Alohomora!_ I shouted in my head, brandishing the wand at the object.

With a small rusty 'click' the door swung open, the hinges creaking slightly as it did so and I did a victory dance in my head as I climbed through the entrance.

_Boo yah!_

Scanning the shelves for the Tome of All Evil disguised as a teen vampire romance, I retraced my steps from yesterday, examining the books I passed for the familiar cover.

My feet stopped dead, however, when I saw the very prominent, book-shaped gap in the middle of the shelf.

_3…2…1…_

"That son of a-!" I screeched, all thoughts of quiet forgone as I slammed both fists against the shelf, causing it to shake.

_He took it! The bastard took it!_

"Damn it!" I shouted into the still morning air, my wand lying forgotten on the ground.

_How could he have known?_ I berated myself furiously. _Well, then again, the disguise wasn't exactly _subtle_, Ari—dammit, it's your own fault!_

Sinking down to the floor of the library and burying my face in my hands I tried not to think about the consequences of what I'd just done—of course there would be consequences, it was Tom bloody Riddle after all—

No, wait a second.

Voldemort—he made his first Horcrux when he was sixteen, using his father's murder in order to help him do it. Meaning that he was originally searching for it beforehand—_that must've been what he was doing when I met him, no wonder he was looking so suspicious_—so… there was really nothing I could've done to prevent him from taking it.

_Bloody hell, who spends their first day at school researching flippin' immortality, of all things, that psycho—_

But…

But in order to actually _make_ the Horcrux… he'd have to know who his father was first, right? Dumbledore himself said he started researching his ancestry in his sixth year… and…

If he _didn't_ know who his father was, if he _didn't_ know his blood status and his life in Little Hangleton, would that make a difference?

Would that prevent his murder?

For the next half an hour I scoured the Library, flicking through the occasional tome and volume that happened to seem like something I was looking for, and more often than not I slammed it back on its shelf in annoyance.

Finally, I drew out my wand.

_I hope Hermione was right about doing this_ … I thought, sweeping my wand around me in a wide arc. _Accio Wizarding genealogy books!_

Immediately, stacks of heavy volumes zoomed towards me from the shelves I had just left, landing in messy piles around me as I tried to dodge the more substantial ones.

However, my ninja skills didn't prevent one particular book from catching me painfully in the stomach and I fell on my butt for what felt like the umpteenth time that week with a muffled grunt.

"Ow…" I muttered, rubbing the abused spot, and I picked up the offending book, examining its cover.

_The Complete History of Wizarding Genealogy_ by Beatrice d'Orsino.

Something about the title of the book rang a bell inside my head… I was certain I'd heard it before, and I knew it had something to do with me… gah, never mind.

Tucking the book underneath my arm, I surveyed the wreck around me and brought out my wand once more.

_Reducio,_ I thought, waving it at the mess, and the books twitched, flopping over somewhat pathetically.

I sighed and tried again. "_Reducio_!"

This time it worked; the pile around me shrunk to the size of coat buttons, and I scooped them up and placed them in my pocket, pleased.

_Ha, let's see you try and research your family tree now, Riddle,_ I thought triumphantly, as I skipped my way out of the Library—or attempted to, anyway.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I froze in my tracks; yikes.

_Did I walk past them when I came in?_ I thought furiously to myself as I turned around sheepishly to face the person, whoever the heck they are.

Oops… make that whoever the heck they _were_.

"You know, you can't just take books out of the Library without borrowing them, you know," the pearly white and semi opaque ghost at the Library desk scolded me haughtily, adjusting the sleeves of his ruffled lace sleeves as he did so.

"Oh, uh…" I stumbled over my words, not sure how to handle my first ever meeting with a Hogwarts ghost. I mean, there was always the screaming and running away option…

I looked down and saw that I was still carrying the _Complete History of Wizarding Genealogy_ book under my arm, which must've been what the ghost was referring to, I realized. "Uh, sorry about that…"

"No matter," sighed the ghost wearily. "Just bring it over here, whatever it is, so that I can stamp it."

"Right…sure."

I brought the tome over to the front desk and the ghost begrudgingly brought out a small piece of rectangular parchment, pushing it towards me. "Sign here, please."

"Ok." I scrawled my signature in the space I was shown, feeling an extremely weird sense of déjà vu as I did so. In my pocket, my wand thrummed gently against my leg.

"I must say, it's rare to find a Hogwarts student so interested in their ancestry," the ghost commented as I wrote—he must've looked at the title of the book.

"You'd be surprised," I muttered, thinking of Voldemort as I finished my entry with one final scribble and handed it back to him. "I'm Ariadne de Lioncourt by the way."

"Sir Constantine du Gaunt, at your service," the ghost said, staring at me idly.

"Gaunt? You're a Slytherin?" I asked, surprised.

"Oh, not more of that House nonsense!" Sir Constantine said irritably, waving a pearly hand. "Honestly, it's all I've been hearing these days—Slytherin this, Gryffindor that, it gets quite _boring_, I must say, especially after more than a century of it."

"I wouldn't know," I murmured absentmindedly, slipping the library card back in between the yellowing pages of the book. "But I must say, I do agree."

"Well then, good for you, child," the ghost nodded approvingly. "Now off to bed! We ghosts have no sense of time, but even _I_ can tell it's quite early—too early, in fact, for a youngling like you to be out of bed."

"Okay, then, nice meeting you," I waved at Sir Constantine as I left the Library—wow, a descendant of Slytherin who _didn't_ appear to be evil, was it even possible?

Guiltily, I snuck a hand back down into my pocket to see if the other books were still there; the answer was yes.

_Good_.

And on that note, I crept back up to the Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

"You seem to be in a worse mood than usual," Draco muttered in my ear as we entered the dungeon room that served as our Potions classroom and I only grunted in reply.

After waking up at half past two for a bloody book, of all things, _then_ realizing that said book had somehow disappeared, _then_ afterwards sleeping for less than an hour before being woken up by Peeves blowing raspberries in my ear and not being able to get back to sleep after that, _plus_ the fact that raging migraine from yesterday had come back to haunt me… well, that does not make for a happy Ari.

Draco snorted when I didn't answer him. "Women," he muttered.

I glared at him, then plunked myself next to Harry, who was also in our Advanced Potions class, along with Ron—it was a class we shared with the Slytherins, according to our timetable.

"Ari," muttered Harry green eyes narrowed with tension, "Ari, there's something you need to know—"

"Welcome, welcome everybody, to your first Potions lesson of the year!"

My attention as drawn to the front of the room, where a short, rather walrusy man with straw colored hair and a matching moustache clapped his hands enthusiastically as he surveyed the sight in front of him.

"Excellent! Slytherins and Gryffindors; a rather excellent combination if I do say so myself!" he said cheerfully, putting his hands in the pockets of his waistcoat, the buttons of which were straining against his stomach. "Excellent!"

"Right… Slughorn still teaches in this time, doesn't he?" Ron murmured, staring vacantly back at the man.

"Yes, well… ah, I see we have the new students here as well!" Slughorn nodded appreciatively at the four of us. "Well—how about you introduce yourselves to the class, then? Now now, there's no need to be shy!" he said, catching sight of the thunderstruck looks we gave him. "Come on, up to the front you go! It's quite rare for Hogwarts to get permanent transfer students, after all, I believe the last one was in… oh, 1872, or so I've heard… well, now, you begin!"

He gave a flourishing wave at Draco, who stared at the hand as if not quite sure what to make of it.

"My name is Draco de Lioncourt. Both my parents were brutally murdered less than a month ago," he said rather boredly, examining an empty potions bottle that happened to reside on Slughorn's desk.

I coughed— wow, the man really knew how to turn on the tearbuckets, didn't he?

Slughorn blinked, discomfited. "Ah, yes, well…" he trailed off uncomfortably, before clearing his throat. "Well, then, you may sit down, Mr de Lioncourt… er…"

"Sensitive lad, isn't he?" I commented mildly to Ron and he snorted.

"Ah, yes you Mr McDonald! Tell us about yourself!"

"Me?" Ron repeated, looking dumbstruck. "I… I uh… I guess… I'm… German?"

"Oh, is that so? I would've thought you were English, with a last name like that…"

"Er, yes, that's what I meant," Ron said, the tips of his ears rapidly coloring. "I was—am—English… but then my family moved to Germany… where they were, er…" he looked to Harry and I helplessly. "… also brutally murdered?"

My eye twitched.

"Oh… I see. How… unfortunate…" Slughorn was actually sweating by now, drops of perspiration visible on his thatched head, "And you, er, Mr Evans?"

Harry nervously flattened his fringe like he always did when he was the center of attention. "I'm Harry Evans… and I was expelled from my old school for excessive use of Dark Magic on first years." He said with an accompanying smirk that was decidedly un-Gryffindorish.

I choked, and it looked like Slughorn did as well, his face turning that familiar shade of blackcurrant I was getting used to.

"Harry! Harry m'boy… you should know… we (cough) don't _do_ those kinds of things here, at Hogwarts," he stared at him incredulously. "You _do_ know that, yes?"

"Of course, sir," Harry responded solemnly. "I only did it to those who deserved it, anyway…"

And with those final words, he moved back into his seat, leaving me (and Slughorn) in a state of sweaty paralysis alone at the front.

_This must be what Harry was talking about when he said to get Riddle's attention and interest, that idiot… but he wouldn't need that here in Potions… unless…_

My eyes swiftly roved over the students in the room until they came to rest on a familiar set of steely dark grey orbs.

**Tom Riddle.**

Tom Riddle was in my Potions class. Oh. My. G—

"And you, Miss de Lioncourt?"

I jumped slightly. "Hm? Oh me? Ah… well…"

_Think!_

"I'm Draco's sister, obviously… he already covered the 'brutally murdered' part, I suppose…" I saw Slughorn wince at this part, "and, er… well…"

"Any hobbies? Interests?" Slughorn questioned, obviously wanting to turn the conversation away from death and destruction, not surprisingly. "I myself am rather fond of collecting Muggle teacup sets… the china patterns really are quite beautiful…"

"Um, well, it's no teacup collection," I said, my eyes somehow tracing their way back to Riddle, who was watching all of this with a very intent look on his striking face, "but… I'm rather interested in… the Hogwarts Founders' relics? Anything related to their history at all, actually," I added, peeking out of the corner of my eye to examine Riddle's reaction at my words—no dice. The man had a poker face of steel.

"Ah, is that so? So, you've harbored quite the interest in Hogwarts since before you came here, is that correct?" Slughorn asked, seemingly interested.

_What a question._

I grinned at the Potions professor. "Most definitely."

"Excellent, then!" Slughorn said, beaming at me. "I'm sure you'll do very well here at Hogwarts, Miss de Lioncourt!"

I don't know whether he actually meant that or if he was just relieved I didn't bring up the usual blood and gore.

I was about to take my seat next to Harry again, but Slughorn stopped me.

"Actually Miss de Lioncourt, I was hoping this year, we would… mix things up a bit, eh?"

I really didn't like that Dumbledore-esque twinkle in his eye.

"Class!" he said, clapping his hands together. "This year we are going to do something different! Today, I will be assigning you partners for the year—no complaints!" he added sternly upon hearing the collective groans from the other students.

"The pairings will be one Gryffindor and one Slytherin, and these will be the partners you will be working with for all assignments and practicals you will be doing in my class."

Ron groaned loudly beside me. "_All_ of them?"

"Relax, Ron, you're in Slytherin, they'll put you with a Gryffindor," I whispered, scowling to myself.

If Fate truly hated me…

As Slughorn called out the names and pairings from the roll he had magically conjured out of nowhere, I slumped down in my seat, waiting for my own to be called whilst thinking of Riddle, which I seemed to be doing a lot of lately.

"Ronald McDonald and Ernest Weasley!"

_That must've been what Harry was trying to tell me earlier, before Slughorn interrupted—oh great, just beautiful, he's going to interrogate me about the book!_

Well, I thought smugly to myself, that's only _if_ he manages to catch me on the way out of class—because _of course_ it would be _far_ too cliché and utterly illogical for Slughorn to set us as class partners—

"Ariadne de Lioncourt and Tom Riddle!"

_Ah, you're kidding. If Fate had a sense of humour, I doubt we'd get along._

" My best student, you're a lucky girl Miss de Lioncourt!" Slughorn commented, smiling at the teenage Dark Lord sitting by himself in the middle of the room.

Harry looked furious beside me, Ron aghast (although maybe that was at the fact that he had just been paired up with his great great grandfather or something), and even Draco appeared to be slightly surprised by the announcement that guaranteed the rest of my life at Hogwarts to be a living hell.

"This cannot be happening," I murmured into my hands, thumping my head once against the desk for good measure. "No no no, of course it isn't, I'm imagining this…"

"Why am I not surprised, though, that that would happen?" Draco muttered to me, a blonde brow lifting as he watched me begrudgingly stand to move into the (surprise, surprise!) empty seat next to Riddle, who had already shifted over his belongings silently.

"Ari, be careful…" Harry warned me quietly—as if I needed it.

Cautiously, I set my second hand school bag on the floor beside the desk and sat down next to the Heir of Slytherin, my heart beating a violent tattoo against my ribs as I did so.

_Okay, Ariadne… a little coherency would be nice this time… just don't get yourself killed, and everything will be fabulous…_

"Hi."

"Hello," Riddle said quietly, dark eyes flickering to mine as he closed his copy of _Asiatic Anti-Venoms_, setting it down on the table in front of him. "It seems we meet again, Miss de Lioncourt."

I blinked; well, this was different._ Is it me… or did he just change his entire personality?_

"Yeah, I guess so." I replied slowly, not sure how to respond to this sudden change in attitude.

_He's so polite now… was it really less than 24 hours ago he was invading my mind in the Library?_

"Harry Evans and Draco de Lioncourt!" Slughorn called out the next names on the list.

I snickered softly at that; at least I wasn't going to be the only one with a crappy partnership.

It then alarmed me slightly how very _Draco_ I was becoming, laughing at others' misery… but then I figured, if it was _Malfoy_ then it was probably well deserved.

And I say that in the most _loving _way possible.

I didn't notice the dark pair of eyes that landed upon my face at my laughter, and my attention remained on Slughorn, who was now explaining to us our task for today, having finished reading off names from the roll.

"Alright, let's have a little revision lesson today, shall we? Just to make sure we haven't entirely forgotten everything we've learned from last year, eh? I want you all," Slughorn thought for a moment, gingery moustache twitching in concentration, "to brew me a passable cauldron of the Befuddlement Draught in the next half hour of class. Ingredients are in the student store cupboard, and extra scales and flasks, if you haven't brought them, are in the classroom cupboard next to my desk. Well, then—chop chop!"

Voldemort immediately began work beside me, silently conjuring the materials out of thin air and lighting the cauldron with a flick of his wand; I, on the other hand, was still stuck finding the potion we were supposed to make in the contents page of my copy of _Advanced Potion Making_.

"Page 457," Riddle murmured quietly beside me, and having jumped at the sound of his voice, as low as it was, I flipped the book to the page he had mentioned, my eyes widening as they scrolled down the instructions on how to brew it.

Ah.

Well.

The potion was seriously complicated—at least, for me it was. Back in 1997, I'd only attempted the most basic of potions—most of them not even qualifying for the title—and even then, I was a failure.

Honestly, I didn't see why Draco had had so much trouble offing Dumbledore in the sixth book; I was pretty sure I'd already poisoned him at least twice during the time he had taught me.

Thank Merlin for bezoars, right?

"Have you made this potion before?"

"Hm?" The sound of Riddle's voice brought me out of my shock- induced stupor, and I stiffened slightly, trying to think of the best way to answer his question.

_If I say yes, will he kill me? Will he _Crucio_ me if I say no? 'Maybe' is definitely not an option—asking him to 'repeat the question' is starting to seem like a bloody fantastic idea right about now…_

"Oh yes, a few times," I lied to him, closing the book with a sharp 'snap'.

_I'll just have to wing it, _I thought sadly, really wishing that Slughorn wouldn't attempt to give it a taste test after class. _Or I could just let the Heir of Slytherin do all the work for me…_

Riddle began to shred the scurvy grass delicately with his long fingers into the cauldron, and I watched, entranced.

_He hasn't set anything on fire yet,_ I marveled inwardly. _Amazing._

"If you don't mind me asking…" Riddle's mellifluous voice interrupted my thoughts once more.

_So polite,_ I thought sardonically, _and charming, too. He's a great actor, I'll give him that—you can tell how he managed to charm all those people into falling for him, why he needs that Locket to help him, I'll never know… look at that! The soft, questioning, tone, edged with courtesy and touched with the perfect amount of hesitancy… even _I_ had to admire it._

To be honest, though, it made me more than a little unnerved to be around him.

"Yeah?" I asked guardedly; he was on to slicing the sneezewort root now.

"Where is it, exactly, do you come from?" He watched me watching him. "In terms of schooling, that is?"

_Suspicious! Suspicious! Suspicious question!_

"Why… would you want to know that?" I replied, unable to keep my natural aversion to answering direct questions out of my tone. Granted, he was inquiring about a completely fake background that Dumbledore had given to us just minutes before we enrolled in the school, but it still wasn't any of his sodding business, was it?

"Well…" Voldemort trailed off thoughtfully, idly twirling the knife which he had been using between his fingers; the silver glinted in the light and beads of sweat began forming on my brow. "I suppose I'm simply… curious." He arched a slim, dark eyebrow. "After all, it is not often that Hogwarts gets exchange students from differing countries, as Professor Slughorn has already mentioned…"

It was suddenly, incredibly hot in the Potions classroom; I peeled away some sweaty locks of dark hair from my forehead before answering.

"Drachenrache." I answered, clearing my throat hoarsely. "I—we—used to study in Drachenrache."

It was the school Dumbledore had assigned to us, but I hadn't done much research on it, to be honest—all I'd been told was that it apparently was a very famous school in Germany, although famous for _what_, exactly, Dumbledore hadn't told us.

Voldemort nodded slowly; the name was obviously familiar to him. "An interesting choice…" he murmured softly, and he resumed cutting the ingredients for the draught, almost as if he was pondering something.

"Hm." I replied warily, watching him again.

_It's never a good idea to let a Dark Lord ponder…_

Although it looked like Riddle could manage making the potion himself (and indeed, it looked like something he was almost used to) I sort of liked appearing less magically obtuse than I normally did, so I began to measure out some of the ingredients that _Riddle_ cut up on the brass scales that _Riddle _had also conjured out of nothing, whilst watching _Riddle_ muse and do various other things out of the corner of my eye.

_Why is he so interested in our schooling background?_ I thought, searching furiously for any reason, any reason for his curiosity. _Was it because of what Harry said…?_

Pungent odors of steam wafting from various cauldrons drifted to where I sat, and I blinked, feeling my head throb and my vision go hazy at the scents.

Setting the powdered lovage root down, I gingerly rested the side of my head on my palm.

The migraine from yesterday (and last night and this morning) had made a reappearance.

_I guess I really do have to make another appointment with Madame Laroche…ow_…

Peeking briefly around the classroom to check on the others, I noticed that none of the others seemed to be suffering from my symptoms—they seemed complete normal, in fact, so was it just me?

No, no, of course not… that was ridiculous, it was just a migraine, a headache, and that was all…

I winced as I felt the familiar searing pain run through my head and I growled silently at the innocent looking Potions textbook in front of me.

My mind felt slow, sluggish… maybe it was the vapours? Of course, that was probably it… too much steam was never good for a person, anyway…

"_Rachsüchtig tod_."

I lifted my head off my harms to stare at Voldemort perplexedly. "I'm sorry?"

Riddle gave me a long, calculating look. "Your school motto, wasn't it?_ Rachsüchtig tod,_" he paused, dark eyes roving over my own. " 'Vengeful death'."

"Cheerful," I muttered, rubbing my temples absentmindedly.

Everything seemed to have taken on their own aura now, hazy halos that outlined each object, each person.

The cauldron in front of me flashed hues of a dark pewter brown, Slughorn a multitude of deep plums, and Riddle…

Black.

"That's where you get your taste in books from, I presume?"

Dimly I registered little alarm bells sounding off in the back of my mind at the slight change in tone Riddle had used, but I ignored them, instead focusing my befuddled brain on less trivial things… like the elusive color of Mr Voldemort's eyes.

Apparently, though, I stared for too long, and two things happened simultaneously: I felt a brief intrusion into my fogged mind, so quick, I barely noticed it, and suddenly the familiar cover of that bloody teenage phenomenon just floated, unbidden, to the surface of my mind.

_Was that what he was talking about? _I wondered, stupefied. _I guess even Lord Voldemort likes a little 'flutter of the heart' now and then…_

"No, I've never really been into the romance genre," I groaned as an answer to his previous question, tearing my unfocused eyes away from his. The jackhammer in my head grew more persistent, and I closed my eyes, gritting my teeth sharply. "You presume… too much…"

"Is that so?" Riddle asked quietly, and I completely missed the red glint flickering across his eyes as I began to busy myself with measuring the amount of armadillo bile needed in a flask.

_Let's see, 20 milligrams… or was it 25? Hang on… _

"Argh, fudge," I said out loud as I accidentally spilled some of the murky- yellow liquid on the desk in my muddled haze. "Dammit."

I considered jabbing my wand at the mess and hoping for the best, but I decided against it once I realized that setting the entire classroom on fire wasn't exactly a great first impression to make on your second day of classes.

Sighing to myself, I began to clean up the liquid the 'Muggle' way, with an old cloth I had found amongst my potions kit supplies—which I wouldn't have needed if I hadn't "chosen" to do Potions (much less _Advanced_ Potions) this year.

"I'm gonna kill you, Dumbledore," I muttered sourly to myself, momentarily forgetting just who it was I was sitting next to.

Riddle's hand holding the flask containing the belladonna solution froze in its position over the sinisterly bubbling cauldron.

"I'm sorry?" he asked me, and I could detect the barest hint of incredulity in his tone, the slightest fault in his oh-so-casual façade.

"Nothing!" Deciding to just 'go with the flow' of things, I threw the whole lot of armadillo bile into the cauldron, disregarding what the directions in the book said completely—_It'll all balance out in the end_, I reasoned, crossing my fingers.

"I'm certain you said something a moment ago…" Riddle pressed, searching my pale, sweaty face intently—I winced as I felt the abrupt spike in the pattern of my throbbing head.

Nausea washed over me in green waves and I clamped my lips tightly together, figuring the Heir of Slytherin wouldn't exactly welcome my upchuck over his shiny, shiny shoes.

"We don't all have murderous tendencies, y'know…" I murmured thoughtlessly and my eyes widened as I realized the full magnitude of **doom** of the words that had just exited my mouth.

The cauldron jerked sharply, but both Riddle and I ignored it.

With eyes that no longer resembled storm clouds but rather freshly spilt blood, Lord Voldemort's gaze locked on to mine.

"Now, why would you say that?" His voice had become softer, silkier and infinitely more _dangerous_…

_Merlin, _I thought haphazardly panic seeping into my muddled mind_, this situation could not possibly get any worse…_

And then the cauldron exploded.

**A/N: And there you go. **

**Found the ending rather annoying, but… I rather liked how everything else turned out in this chap, so yes!**

**Everyone, thanks so much for all the reviews and favourites, and sorry if I don't get around to replying to them—they're really inspiring, seriously… please keep up the great support (and tell me how I did on writing Riddle!)!**

**Thanks guys!**

**N**


	9. Déjà Vu

**IT IS STRONGLY RECOMMENDED THAT YOU REREAD THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER FIRST BEFORE YOU READ THIS ONE. STRONGLY RECOMMENDED. STRONGLY RECOMMENDED.**

**Disclaimer: **Nope. I'm just a fan. Writing fiction.

**A/N: **It's short, but sweet.

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 9: Déjà Vu**

_And then the cauldron exploded._

Almost by itself, my wand somehow found its way to my hand and the Shield Charm I placed around myself to stop the splatters of the boiling hot unidentifiable substance landing on my skin seemed almost automatic, occurring within a matter of split seconds.

Inhaling sharply through my nose, I glanced over to my right to see Riddle had done the same and was now staring at me with an inscrutable look in his dark eyes.

_Well, _I thought, _I guess those lessons with Dumbledore weren't for nothing, right?_

"My goodness! Oh, what happened here?" Slughorn's voice boomed from the front of the classroom, and I switched my attention to the scene around me, surveying the wreck—_my_ wreck.

It seemed not everyone had been as lucky as Riddle and I had been; some of the other Slytherins had been hit by the stray globs of our unfinished Befuddlement Draught and were now either sprouting various species of fungi from their face or simply staring around the dungeon with a very confused expression indeed.

Harry caught my eye across the room and contracted his eyebrows worriedly; I just winced and made a shushing gesture before turning back to the very bewildered Slughorn now in front of our desk.

"Is this from your cauldron Mr Riddle?" he asked us with something quite close to disbelief evident in his tone. "Miss de Lioncourt?"

"Er..."

Riddle was quicker.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Professor." he apologized smoothly, a sheepish, hesitant smile making its way on his features and I stared at him incredulously. "It seems... it seems I may have added too much of the armadillo bile, I'm afraid."

_What is he doing?_

Why was he covering up for me?

Slughorn was almost as shocked as I was, except for an entirely different reason. "Tom!" he exclaimed, and I could almost hear the 'naughty naughty' in his voice. "I expected better of you! Potions prince, twelve O.W.L.s!"

My eyes actually bugged out of my sockets when I saw the rising pink stain Riddle's hollow cheeks—this is far too much, I thought in disbelief. He can...actually... blush on cue?

He shifted in mock discomfort in his chair and it was then that I caught the brief glimmer of silver around his neck; my eyes narrowed.

That couldn't be...could it?

Making sure Riddle's attention was still focused on Slughorn, I craned my head slightly to the left. Again I saw the flash of bright metal but it was quickly obscured by the stiff white collar of Riddle's uniform before I had the chance to fully examine the item.

And if it was what I thought it was...

I pursed my lips.

This called for something a little more..._drastic_. Short of ripping the Dark Lord's shirt off his back, of course.

With one hand I purposely knocked over one of the small flasks at our table; it fell over with a crash and its contents mingled with unfinished potion puddled on our desk.

Both Riddle and Slughorn's eyes widened.

BANG!

_Definitely was not expecting that, _I thought grimly around Slughorn's semi transparent Shield Charm that he had thrown around us, and, ignoring the startled cries of the other students in the room, I whispered a charm of my own.

"_Ventus!"_

A small puff of air left the tip of my wand which was held under my chair and discretely pointed at Riddle and to my immense delight, the partially buttoned collar of his shirt flopped open slightly, exposing the mystery around his neck (not lecherous at all).

My eyes widened.

I had been right. Around his neck hung an elaborate chain that shone in the half light of the dungeons like moonlight made solid; it seemed to capture more than its fair share of light. And suspended from it, on an ornate half circlet—

My eyes, if possible grew bigger at the sight of the sapphire encrusted pale oval dangling from the chain.

The locket of Ravenclaw. The First Locket.

'Goodness gracious!" Slughorn's voice cut into my thoughts as I tore my eyes away from Riddle's chest to look at him. "Today simply just isn't our day, isn't it you two?"

"You could say that," I muttered acknowledgingly, still mulling over what I'd just seen. _Riddle has the Locket... what does that mean for us?_

"I'm sorry, Professor," Riddle whispered quietly, jaw tight and the red was back in his eyes.

_What did the First Locket do?_

The back of my neck prickled and I gripped the wooden desk with my hands suddenly filled with a terrible, terrible sense of foreboding. I refused to look at Riddle's face; for the first time since I'd entered this world, I felt desperately, and truly afraid.

_The First Locket..._

Riddle smiled charmingly at the oblivious Professor, and his teeth glinted silver in the sunlight, as white and sharp as a shark's. I stayed very still, frozen in my seat. "I wasn't supposed to do this."

_... allowed the user..._

Slughorn frowned in confusion. "Tom..."

A long fingered hand crept up to the collar of his shirt, and suddenly I could control my limbs again, could _move,_ could do something-!

"No!" I yelled and lunged for his arm—

_...to control and manipulate Time itself._

* * *

"Argh, fudge," I said out loud as I accidentally spilled some of the murky- yellow liquid on the desk in my muddled haze. "Dammit."

I considered jabbing my wand at the mess and hoping for the best, but I decided against it once I realized that setting the entire classroom on fire wasn't exactly a great first impression to make on your second day of classes.

Sighing to myself, I began to clean up the liquid the 'Muggle' way, with an old cloth I had found amongst my potions kit supplies—which I wouldn't have needed if I hadn't "chosen" to do Potions (much less _Advanced_ Potions) this year.

"I'm gunna kill you, Dumbledore," I muttered sourly to myself, momentarily forgetting just who it was I was sitting next to.

"So I've heard," Riddle muttered as he added the belladonna solution into the sinisterly bubbling cauldron. "Ah, only 15 milligrams of armadillo bile is required, Miss de Lioncourt." His hand firmly caught my wrist as I decided to 'go with the flow' and chuck the whole lot of the bile in, effectively stopping me from making any additions.

"You don't say?" I said as he let go of my hand, taking the flask away from me.

"I do," he responded mildly as he measured out the thick brown liquid himself and dumped it into the cauldron, which hissed and turned a violent shade of purple. "Too much bile outbalances the regurgitating effects of the powdered knotgrass we added in earlier; if we had done so then out cauldron would have exploded." He said all of this with a polite, explaining smile.

I winced as I felt the abrupt spike in the pattern of my throbbing head. "Right. Sure. Glad that didn't happen, then."

Nausea washed over me in green waves and I clamped my lips tightly together, figuring the Heir of Slytherin wouldn't exactly welcome my upchuck over his shiny, shiny shoes. A chill ran up my spine and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up; I fought the sense of dread growing in the pit of my stomach. Biting back a groan, I pressed a clammy hand against my sweaty forehead and closed my eyes._Just a bout of nausea, just a bout of nausea Ari,_ I chanted to myself weakly. _Nothing more._

**Are you sure?**

"Are you not feeling well today, Miss de Lioncourt?" Riddle again, his voice concerned.

**How much of this is real?**

"I'm wonderful," I gasped out as both the pounding in my head and the ice in my stomach increased tenfold. Something was wrong— everyone was talking too quickly around me, I was hearing words before people said them; each movement seemed like a nervous twitch to me, repetitive and consistent. That girl, the redhead with the braids—hadn't she already dropped her textbook on the floor? "Riddle, do you ever get... déjà vu?" I hated myself for asking him, but this was getting too weird and too unsettling. "Like... you've already done something before and you're just... repeating yourself?"

There was silence from Riddle's side of the table; I glanced at him.

His head was cocked slightly to one side as he looked at me, as if he was a small child regarding something new and unfamiliar in front of him. A strange gleam crept into his dark eyes and his eyebrows raised upwards in a delayed show of deliberate confusion at my words. "Now, why would you say that?"

"_Now, why would you say that?"_

My lips parted and the cold fingers running down my spine became knives raking through my skin. Staring into Voldemort's unfathomable eyes, I held my breath. "Wh—"

"Ah! Mr Riddle and Miss de Lioncourt, your potion is looking very nicely done!" I jolted away from Riddle at the sound of Slughorn's voice and turned my stare of disbelief at the portly, ginger Potions professor examining our cauldron with an expression of great admiration. "Very nicely done indeed—though I wouldn't expect anything less of you, Tom! Potions prince, twelve O.W.L.s!"

A light flush of pink stained the hollows of Voldemort's cheeks as accepted the praise with quiet thanks. Meanwhile I sat gaping at Slughorn as if had somehow grown an extra head and sprouted feelers while he had been talking.

_This is crazy... incredibly insane..._

"How—"

"And Miss de Lioncourt!" Slughorn exclaimed happily, switching his attention from Riddle to me, "Not a bad start, not a bad start at all!"

"I—"

"In fact..." Slughorn lowered his voice to a booming whisper, glancing around the classroom in a matter which I supposed he thought was secretive, "don't be surprised if you receive a little... 'something' in the mail from me tomorrow morning, hm?"

I shook my head slowly, as if the action would clear my murky thoughts. "Er... 'something', sir?"

The walrus moustached Potions master gave me a sly wink. "An invitation to a little 'get-together' I'm having quite soon..."

"You're joking." The word was flat, in incredulous disbelief.

He chuckled, apparently misunderstanding my words. "No joke, no joke at all, Miss de Lioncourt! And I'd very much appreciate it if you could come... You see," he added conspirationally, "not many people in my classes are invited to these little parties, if you know what I mean..."

Already, I begun to shake my head once more, this time in declination of his offer. "Professor, I really don't think—"

"You should come, Ariadne."

Riddle's voice was smooth and quiet as always, yet it cut off the rest of my breath like a punch to the gut. Was this guy kidding? Oh, sure, the Dark Lord was _totally_ cajoling me into having a blast at a party for teenage wizards (and other creatures, I'm certain), that's a perfectly realistic situation! And not to mention use my full first name, which only my grandma and Dumbledore call me, after knowing me for about five minutes despite the fact that it's almost a taboo here in the 40's, where women still addressed their husbands as 'Mr Such and Such' to their friends! Right? _Right?_

There were no "maybe's" about it; I had officially begun panicking now.

_Something's wrong, something's so wrong here—_

Slughorn looked back and forth between us and began to laugh knowingly. "Oh ho ho ho! Well then it's settled!" he chuckled as he began to walk away from our table. "Carry on then, carry on..."

He was still chortling and I could only stare at his retreating figure in numb disbelief. "What just happened?"

Riddle chuckled lightly beside me, and I switched my dubious gape back to him. "You were apparently invited to a party, Miss de Lioncourt."

"Right," I said, feeling a faint sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Okay then..."

"I assure you, they're not all as shallow as they may seem upon initial consideration. Sometimes..." he paused thoughtfully, a slight smile curving his pale lips. "They can be quite interesting, actually."

My mouth twitched. "Sometimes."

His eyebrows raised as he smirked at me and I returned it without thinking. Riddle's eyes glinted and suddenly the full awareness of what I was doing hit me like a ton of bezoars. _This is exactly what I was warned about—he _charms_ his victims, Ari! He's playing you, using you to get the information that he wants!_

Quickly, I began to pack up my things, sweeping an arm over the table and slamming everything into my bag, fighting my rising sense of panic.

Riddle frowned as he watched my ministrations. "What are you doing?"

"Leaving." I replied tersely.

"Leaving?" He looked genuinely confused as I slung my bag over my shoulder. "But it isn't yet time to—"

The Hogwarts bell began to chime and I swiftly departed the room, pushing past Draco as I broke into a run for the girl's toilets.

Bursting through the door, I ran to the sink and began to splash some of the cold water onto my face in an attempt to snap myself from whatever daze I was in; it only helped slightly. Gripping the sides of the sink, I tried to take deep, steadying breaths.

_It's fine, it's okay,_ I repeated the words in my mind like a chant. _This feeling's only in your head, it'll pass soon, don't worr—_

I heaved the contents of my breakfast into the porcelain bowl.

"Ugh... that's disgusting."

Wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my robes quickly, I whipped around to face a rather short, chubby girl with thick glasses and pigtails, picking morosely at a spot on her nose.

"_Myrtle?_" I croaked incredulously and winced at the acrid taste in the back of my throat.

Myrtle eyed me for a moment, a frown coming onto her round face. "Have we met before?"

I turned back to the sink and drank some of the water from the tap before facing the would-be ghost in front of me in a state of shock. "No...no we haven't, it's just—you're _alive._"

I immediately regretted my words as soon as I said them—all of a sudden the flesh and blood student standing in front of me began to cry real tears, thick and pearly as she commenced her wailing. "You're making fun of me, aren't you?"

"No no wait, I didn't mean it like that—"

"You people are all the same!" she sobbed hysterically. "I've just met you and you insult me! Maybe Olive Hornby was right, nobody likes me, I'm so hideous—"

"Whoa, woman, calm down—"

At my words her voice rose to a piercing shriek and I winced. "_Woman?" _she repeated, now completely beside herself with indignation. "I suppose that's another way of calling me _fat_, is it?"

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with being a little voluptuous—"

Myrtle burst into a fresh flood of tears and ran, sobbing, away from me, exiting the bathroom.

"Aw, crap." I mumbled. I felt terrible, but she must feel _loads_ worse, thanks to me...

Shaking my head (which I most definitely should not have done—now the room was spinning) I made my way out of the toilets stumbling into Ron outside, with Harry and Draco. "Hey, watch it—oh, hey."

Harry appraised my dishevelled figure and his eyes narrowed. "What happened? What did Riddle do to you?"

"Hey Ari, you've _got_ to see this—" Ron was waving his wand around excitedly in front of my face but I ignored him for the time being.

"I don't know," I replied worriedly to Harry's question. "but it was _something_, I know it—"

"—no seriously, Ari, you should see the spell my great great grandfather Ernie taught me, that terrific old bloke—"

"—my head's pounding like hell and I've been throwing up all over the place—"

"Delightful," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Ari! _Ari_, c'mon—"

"FOR GOD'S SAKES RONALD WEA—MCDONALD!" I roared at him and I reached a hand into my robes to pull out my wand. "I swear if you don't shut your freckled trap right now I'm gunna curse your a—"

My hand closed around the _scorching_, searing wood of my wand and I gasped, jolted as if a current of electricity had passed through me and suddenly—

_-"My goodness! Oh, what happened here? Your cauldron—"_

"_-Er—"_

"_- I'm sorry, Professor—"_

"_-Tom! I expected better of you! Potions prince, twelve O.W.L.s!—"_

"_-Ventus!—"_

_...My eyes widened..._

_...Around his neck hung an elaborate chain that shone in the half light of the dungeons like moonlight made solid; it seemed to capture more than its fair share of light. And suspended from it, on an ornate half circlet—_

_The locket of Ravenclaw. The First Locket._

**-Riddle has the Locket... what does that mean for us?—**

"_I'm sorry, Professor," Riddle whispered quietly, jaw tight and the red was back in his eyes._

**What did the First Locket do?**

_The back of my neck prickled-_

**The First Locket...**

_-Riddle smiled charmingly at the oblivious Professor, and his teeth glinted silver in the sunlight, as white and sharp as a shark's. I stayed very still, frozen in my seat. "I wasn't supposed to do this."_

**... allowed the user...**

"_Tom..."_

"_No!" I yelled and lunged for his arm—_

**...to control and manipulate Time itself.**

The sudden rush of images ended abruptly and I looked up at the others from my position where I had collapsed on the floor.

"Oh dear," I gasped out, and then I fainted.

**A/N: Such a proper young woman, Ari is... *hand flutters on heart, gracefully sinks down***

**But tell me, what did you think? You'll notice that the next few chapters will have waaay more plot than the last few, because we're really getting into the story now!**

**Anyway, please review!**


	10. Dreams and Reality

**Disclaimer: ***sobs into pillow*

**A/N: **IT'S FINISHED! *sighs, pants and laughs maniacally*. Oh my gosh, the amount of effort I put into writing this chapter! I did each of the sections non chronologically and then had to _rewrite_ some of them because I wasn't happy with the way it turned out…

But, here it is. Submitted at 5 in the morning, in my bed, in Australia.

Thanks for everything, guys. Enjoy!

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 9: Dreams and Reality**

_And then I fainted._

Grey was the predominating color in my surrounding environment. An endless spectrum of alternating shades of shadow—charcoal, slate, silver. I didn't know how much time passed as I tried to count them.

A sharp stab of discomfort reached me then, not precise enough to be called painful, but irritating nonetheless. Yet I couldn't identify its source...I could not discern precisely what part of my physical being was being affected. I could only have this awful _knowing—_

_Ouch!_

Now this was true pain. Colorful and bright and absolutely familiar. And it seemed to be coming from my scalp.

"You could do with a bit of a haircut, I think."

I yelped and the sound echoed within the confines of my grey prison. In front of me, the old woman—a laughably ill fitting description, as neither gender really appeared to apply here—cocked her head to one side as the gaping black holes that replaced her eyes focused on my own. I stared back, more out of a disgusted fascination than anything else.

When I was younger, I'd once left a hot iron on the cheap plastic surface of our kitchen table, the one that all the kids had to share for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The heat from the metal had caused the formerly pristine white surface to yellow and bubble, and then to spread across the rest of the table like rancid milk. When it had cooled, I found, much to my chagrin, that the melted plastic had twisted and curdled to form permanent ridges and divots in the table- like diseased skin, crumpled and ugly. Some of the younger kids had had nightmares afterwards, claiming that a face watched them from the mess. And though I made it my highest priority to encourage these fears, even I could not deny the grotesque scream of silent rage that yawned from the mass of ruined plastic.

Never had I thought I would meet the nightmare face to face.

The old crone had no mouth, no nose, no hair. Where her eyes should have been were only a strange darkness, one that alternated between that of on an abyss, or a freshly dug grave. I couldn't look away.

_Smack._

_Agh! _I rubbed my stinging cheek. _What the—_

"It's rude to stare." The crone said very matter-of-factly. "So, you're the one, eh?"

_What?_

The gnarled ridges of her face settled into what was unmistakeably a smug look. "Thought so. Well, you look ordinary enough."

_Who are you?_

"Oh, I doubt you'll remember after this, so what's the point of telling you?" She sighed. "Try a better question."

I thought for a moment. _Where am I?_

The crone nodded approvingly. "Better, though still quite a mundane question."

She extended a hand around us; something silver gleamed as she did so and I flinched. Then I noticed it was only a pair of scissors. Tearing my eyes away from the item, I looked around.

What I saw surprised me; I had been expecting to see the familiar shades of grey. Instead, it had faded so that it almost like a fine mist I was looking through. We appeared to be standing in the middle of someone's living room. There was a long, red velvet couch behind us and on the walls hung a number of pictures in faux gold frames. A blue vase filled with lilies rested quietly in the corner of the room.

_It's my parents' house. _I turned around, scanning the familiar setting. _What are we doing here?_

"This is where it all began."

_Began?_

The strange blankness that was her eyes trained onto me. "Do you remember how your parents died?"

_No._

She hissed and I jumped, staring at her in shock before I realized that the sound issuing from around us was her laughter. I wasn't quite sure how she managed to achieve this, considering she had no mouth...

This is a dream, I decided.

"What a pretty little liar you are," she said finally. There was a short, pregnant silence. "This is the reason your Strand broke."

_My wha—_

And then she was in front of me, her face only inches away from my own. "I need you to be ready, Ariadne. You cannot avoid us forever."

I was frozen in fear. _Wha—_

_- one of my legs gave out then, as though part of a marionette whose strings had gone slack and I collapsed with it, snapping my head painfully against the stone wall behind me__-_

"You can't fight Fate."

* * *

"Hwaugh!"

"I told you that would wake her up," a smug voice said from somewhere near my elbow and I heard someone sigh. Coughing, I brought up a hand to my face, swiping at the icy water that drenched my head and shoulders. It occurred to me then that both my eyes were still tightly shut, so, problem-solving skills coming into practice, I opened them. The startling bright light disarmed me. I realized that I was somewhere that I was already becoming too familiar with...

"Hospital wing?" I coughed out, sitting up on the flat, white mattress.

"You think?" Draco scowled, his arms crossed over his chest from his position suspiciously close to the water pitcher. "How long _were_ you planning on drooling on those pillows, de Lioncourt?"

"How long was I out?"

"Maybe a half hour," Hermione answered from the foot of the bed. "You gave us quite a fright, you know...what happened to you?"

"I..." Something jabbed at me in my memory and my mouth fell open in shock. "My wand! Where is it?"

Silently, Draco reached into the pocket of his robes and tossed the aforementioned item at me; I caught it with reluctant hands. Shaking my head, I let my fingers curl around it, feeling its slightly knobbled surface nestle snugly in the crevice of the scar across my palm. I held my breath.

Nothing. No strange warmth, none of that vibrating energy I had felt earlier... it appeared, for a ll intents and purposes, like only a common twig I held in my hand. I looked up at the other two and saw that an explanation was clearly needed.

"My wand... when I touched it..." Both my tongue and thoughts were heavy and sluggish. I could sense Draco's impatience, so I tried to pull myself together. "Something happened... I heard voices. I mean, voices that I'd heard before."

This was proving to be incredibly frustrating to explain. "Like a...like—a repeat?—a replay. Except that it didn't happen, did it?" I was talking to myself more than anyone else now. "The cauldron exploded—but it couldn't have, because Riddle—"

The air seemed to have disappeared from my lungs entirely and my eyes became glassy as I stared into space. "Riddle..."

_-an elaborate chain that shone in the half light of the dungeons—_

"...he..."

_-suspended from it, on an ornate half circlet—_

"He has the Locket," I blurted out. "The First, Rowena Ravenclaw's—the one that controls Time—he has it! And...he _used it_..."

Hermione's eyes were as wide as saucers and even Draco looked slightly uneasy.

"Are you sure, de Lioncourt?" he asked. "That the Dark Lord..."

"He used it on me, Malfoy. No, wait—he used it on all of us, the whole class, but no one noticed... except for me..." I put a hand up to my forehead, feeling the familiar pounding at my temples. "But why, though? Why can I remember it when no one else..."

My eye fell upon the red-brown wand lying innocently in my lap and the answer dawned upon me. "It's my wand. That's it, that's how we can know!"

Draco frowned. "Know...?"

"Know whether Riddle's used the Locket on us," Hermione said excitedly, her curly hair bobbing with each slight movement of her head. "Obviously, we're at a massive disadvantage here—if what Ari says is correct, then Riddle can—at best—make us forget what we've done earlier or at worst, trap us in an eternal time loop/continuum...

"But now we have a way of knowing if what we see in front of us is real and not something Riddle-manipulated...Ari, did you get your memories back after he used the First on you?"

"All of them. When I touched my wand." I thought for a moment. "Back in 19—at home, Ollivander told me that _tempus_ was used as the core of my wand. _Tempus_, time. Dumbledore also said something about the strand...remembering vibrations?"

"Vibrations of previous events, thus producing projections into the future," Hermione breathed and I stared at her.

"Is that from a textbook?"

She waved my question away impatiently. "Your wand is memory-tactile! They store memories! When Ri—"

"Shut up!" Draco hissed suddenly and a beat later, we heard the rhythmic tapping of high heels approaching. Madame Laroche's head popped through the doors of the Infirmary and when she saw me sitting up in bed she tsked.

"Finally awake, there eh? I don't know what you're doing back here myself," she sniffed unapologetically, "there's nothing wrong with you as far as I can tell."

"Just a fainting spell," I said, clambering out of bed. "And headaches."

She eyed me speculatively. "What sort? Migraines, pressure headaches?"

"Um... just the ordinary 'power-drill-through-your-head' kind."

"You children and your slang these days," she sighed and waved her wand in a figure eight in the air in front of her. A small purple bottle appeared, which she handed over to me. "There. This should keep you happy."

I pocketed it with a thanks and quickly exited the Hospital Wing, following the other two. "Where are the others?"

From what I could see of him, Draco stiffened. When he replied his eyes were tight and his upper lip was curled as he spoke through gritted teeth. "Making new friends, I imagine."

* * *

"This is a really stupid idea, mate. I mean, _really_ stupid."

"Ron…" Harry said through gritted teeth. "If you say that one more time, I _swear_…"

"Fine, alright, alright…"

Exchanging dark glances with one another, the took one simultaneous deep breath and pushed open the heavy iron door.

The room that lay before them was one Harry vaguely associated with a number of unpleasant memories, mainly involving giant spiders and even bigger snakes.

The Slytherin common room was as vast and spacious as that of the Gryffindor tower, although Harry personally felt that he preferred the cheery red color scheme to the green. Not much had appeared to have changed since 1997; the walls still seemed to emit a faint, greenish glow, the armchairs and pouffes looked (and felt) as stiff and uncomfortable as Harry had ever remembered. However, it was a much different story with the people who currently occupied it.

"Evans, McDonald," called out a thin boy with stringy brown hair and close-set eyes. "Good of you to finally join us."

Harry forced a smile and discreetly nudged Ron, who was staring at the boy with an expression of pointed dislike, under the ribs. A wide and slightly pained grin spread out on his face immediately and the boy, who Harry remembered was called Avery, looked alarmed but not suspicious.

"Haven't seen you around, often," he commented, while the rest of his peers, all clad in the familiar silver and green, looked on. Harry thought he even recognized a few faces: one boy had pale, pointed features and bore such a haughty, arrogant look that Harry was certain that he had to be one of Draco's ancestors. Another boy looked familiar but was harder to place: he had long, dark hair and an easy lounging grace evident in the way he sat…a sharp stab of emotion pierced Harry's heart when he realized that the boy must have been some relative of Sirius. He stared at him openly for a moment before Ron stepped lightly on his trainers; he hadn't noticed Avery was still talking. "It isn't polite to hide from members of your own House…"

Harry didn't know how to respond to that. "I suppose we weren't exactly big on teamwork back in…er…"

"Your former school? Drachenrache?" asked the Sirius look-alike interestedly. "My aunt's told me all sorts of stories about that place… I must say, you're very lucky…"

Ron looked mystified. "Why?"

"Well, it's got that reputation for practicing Dark Magic, hasn't it?" the boy said animatedly, putting his hands behind his head as he leaned into his armchair. "I heard that your teachers actually encourage you to use the Unforgivables on the people that cross you—"

"What?" roared Ron. The dark-haired boy looked surprised at the sudden outburst and around the room, some of the Slytherins exchanged meaningful glances with one another. Hastily, Harry tried to repair the damage.

"Er…don't mind him, he's just very protective of our school secrets," he said without thinking. This feeble excuse seemed to work; the suspicious looks morphed into smirks, as if at some hidden joke.

"Aren't we all…" said a heavily built, square faced boy Harry recalled to be Macnair and the room broke out into laughter. The boy who looked like Sirius was the only one who didn't laugh as he ignored the others and fixed a thoughtful, speculative gaze on the two faux-Slytherins. Harry noted that he seemed to be friendlier than his house mates, although perhaps he was just relying on his own experiences with other members of the Black family tree to supplement the gaps in his knowledge of the boy.

_Sirius is dead_, Harry told himself firmly.

"You two look rather familiar," the boy said curiously. "Especially you," he addressed Harry directly. "Are we related?"

"I'm a half blood."

The dark-haired boy looked faintly disappointed at his reply. "Maybe not, then."

At this, the Slytherin with the pale blond hair who so resembled Draco spoke.

"I'm surprised you couldn't tell, Black." His voice was haughty and filled with the arrogance of one who believed that the world had been designed for the sole reason of accommodating his existence. " 'Evans' and 'McDonald' are hardly names of a _pure blood _family."

"Excuse me," said Harry, with a surge of cold fury in his chest, "but I'd appreciate it if you kept your fat mouth shut about my family."

The whole room fell silent at his words and beside him, Ron shifted uncomfortably but Harry did not care, the blood was pounding in his head, all he wanted was for this Malfoy to feel some tiny part of the horror he had experienced at only one year old…

"I trust everybody's getting along."

All of the room's occupants including Harry gave a huge start at the unexpected voice that cut smoothly through the tense silence like a knife through butter. Harry whipped his head around so fast his neck gave a sickening crack.

Tom Riddle stood at the common room entrance, having entered as soundlessly as a ghost. He closed the door; it slid into place with a ringing thud behind him. Harry fought the sick rush of hot anger that ran through him as he watched the tall figure survey the room. Hidden in the pocket of his robes, his hand formed a cold fist around the handle of his wand.

"Riddle!" said Malfoy, looking very much like a child caught doing something behind his parents' backs.

Riddle nodded curtly. "Abraxas." He moved his gaze to Harry and Ron. "Evans, McDonald."

The nodded stonily in return.

"What took you so long, Riddle?" called out Black, rocking backwards on the back legs of his chair in a manner that forcibly reminded Harry of the Sirius he had seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve. He alone seemed to be relaxed among his peers, although there was an underlying strain in his smile that had not been there earlier.

"I was…delayed," Riddle responded. One hand reached up almost thoughtfully to his collar then fell back down as he sighed. "No matter."

He crossed the room gracefully and sat down in the big, throne-like chair in front of the fireplace which Harry had noticed had been unoccupied since they had entered the room, as if reserved.

"Any luck with the Slugbomb?" a Slytherin boy with a wide, mocking face and sand-colored hair called out. Riddle did not answer, instead staring at him with an expression so ambiguous that the boy's smile faded and was replaced by intense chagrin.

"Do you mean our Head of House, Lestrange?" he asked quietly. Something jolted in Harry at the sound of the name and he didn't need Ron's elbow in his ribs to remember where he had heard it.

Lestrange flushed in embarrassment and Riddle ignored him. "If you must know, nothing happened except for the usual," he gave an impatient sigh. "An invitation to yet another little 'party'…"

"You do realize, Riddle, that most people would sell their own grandmothers to attend those, right?" Black pointed out.

For a moment, Riddle seemed on the verge of rolling his eyes. "Luckily, I have no such inclinations, Alphard."

Alphard snorted. "Speak for yourself." He paused. "Actually, I think I might just do that... party or no…"

Beside Harry, Ron let out a chortle and immediately Riddle's eyes trained upon his face like a magnet. Ron turned beet red.

"You are adjusting well, I hope, Mr McDonald? Mr Evans?" Riddle said softly.

"We're fine," Harry replied shortly, struggling to hide his intense dislike for the man in front of him. It did not help that his scar gave a particularly painful twinge whenever their eyes met. "Not much to do around here…"

"I see."

Unexpectedly, the boy sitting in the seat closest to Riddle blurted out, "Are we having another meeting tonight?"

A ringing silence met his words. Harry knew that the meeting the boy had referred to was something Riddle wished to keep private. It was also the sole reason he and Ron had forced themselves to enter this den of lions…or rather, this nest of snakes.

It was Alphard, Sirius' ancestor, who broke the silence.

"Merlin, mate," he said, looking disgusted. "Desperate, much?"

A few nervous twitters broke out then; even Riddle smiled mechanically.

"As a matter of fact," he said, a thin smile playing around his lips, "there is, Nott."

"What meeting?" asked Harry at once.

"During the course of the school year," Riddle said calmly, "my friends and I hold several meetings to discuss topics that are of interest to us."

"Like what?"

Harry fought to keep a straight face as his scar flared white hot when Riddle's eyes found his own. He stared back defiantly until the Slytherin Prefect smiled once more. "Your school has quite a reputation, Mr Evans. Tell me, were there any subjects in particular that captured your attention?"

"Well, Herbology was fairly—" began Ron but was cut off by Harry's well delivered kick to the shin.

"Yes." Harry answered, levelling Riddle with a stare. "At our school, the professors taught us how to fight against the Dark Arts."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

Harry replied grimly. "You tell me, Riddle."

There was an extremely tense silence; it seemed the other Slytherins were in equal parts fascinated and outraged at Harry's blatant show of disrespect to their leader. At his side, Ron had held his breath.

Riddle watched him curiously for a moment. "Very well." He stood up from the throne-like chair. "I have patrolling duty now. However, the meeting will commence at eleven tonight, in the dungeons. You're welcome to attend."

"Don't worry," said Harry. "We will."

* * *

"Well, Draco, it's about time you learned that the world doesn't revolve around you and what you think…"

He threw me a scathing look as we walked. "Ari, your judgement is at best, questionable. Why would the Dark Lord bother wasting his energy and the Locket's power on someone as insignificant as yourself?"

Although the truth of his words did not make his reply any more flattering, I found myself elapsing into a short silence as I considered.

"I don't think it was just for me…" I said slowly. "I think…it was more about his image, than anything else. Kid couldn't take anything below an 'Outstanding' on his report card….and Slughorn's reaction—oh!"

"What is it?" Draco asked, fraught with concern for my wellbeing as he delicately picked at a tiny imperfection on one of his fingernails.

I felt slightly faint. "I think I was just invited to one of Professor Slughorn's get togethers…"

That got his attention; he stopped in his tracks and gave me a look of disbelief.

"You?" he said incredulously. "But _why_?"

"Not by anything I did," I said bitterly. "Riddle. He completely set me up for that—oh dear Lord, hide me."

As we had talked, we had been gradually approaching the tall, brass door that led to our Charms class. However, it had soon burst open, with us only a few feet away, a familiar, sobbing girl with a somewhat spotty face emerging through.

"I wish Olive Hornby would just _die_!" she shrieked hatefully as she spun round to face the open classroom, before pushing past Draco and I to head, presumably, back to the girl's bathroom.

"Is that…?" Draco said uncertainly.

"In the flesh," I replied, stepping out from behind him. "C'mon…"

Inside, the rest of the class didn't even look remotely bothered that one of their own had just broke down in a hysterical fit, save for one Hufflepuff, a curly haired witch with a slightly upturned nose who was smirking behind her palm. I went out on a limb and guessed that this was the famous Miss Hornby.

"Yes, yes, well…now that _that_'s all settled…" the tiny man at the front of the class squeaked dryly. I suppose Myrtle's tantrums weren't exactly rare occurrences. "Ah, here are the new students…"

Later, I paced back and forth in front of the Room three times and when the familiar handle appeared on its surface, I pulled it and entered.

It was completely deserted; I must have arrived early. Tossing my bag on the carpeted floor, I jumped onto my favourite purple beanbag that leaned against the far side of the room. I put my arms behind my head and stared at the arched ceiling for a while, counting the tiny dust motes that flickered in the air.

A thought struck me then; I reached into the slightly tattered school bag Dumbledore had loaned me and pulled out something small and card shaped that fit easily into the size of my palm.

_Engorgio_, I thought, flicking my wand at it and gradually it swelled to the size of a textbook. It was the folder that had been in the Room of Requirement when we first arrived in 1944. I hadn't had a chance to look at it yet...

I flipped it open to a random page and began reading. It looked like a timeline of Riddle-Voldemort's life... there were some dates I recognized: _1939, 1945, 1965...1981. _There were more articles after the timeline; it seemed like personal notes made by Dumbledore himself. But there was nothing he hadn't told us already, nothing we didn't already know about the boy who would become Lord Voldemort within the pages and I rested the book on my lap, a slight sense of frustration creeping over me.

What was the point, then? I wondered. Dates, meaningless dates... nothing about a Locket, or—

My finger slipped on the edge of one of the pages and I jerked my hand away as a bright red bead of blood welled out from the small cut and landed on the yellow paper. Now vaguely annoyed, I shut the book and shoved it back into my bag.

"Ari?"

I looked up; Harry had entered the room, quietly closing it shut behind him. "Hey."

He sat in one of the big red armchairs and watched me. "What are you doing?"

"Researching." I shrugged. "D'you ever wonder what would happen if someone else—someone not from 1997—saw the book Dumbledore gave us?"

"Ari?"

"Yes?"

He eyed me carefully for a moment. "Last time I saw you, you were unconscious in the Hospital Wing. I spoke to Hermione, she said you'd be able to explain what happened with your wand to me."

"Riddle has the First Locket," I said bluntly; Harry looked surprised and then surprise morphed into anger.

"_What?"_

"He used it on us. In Potions. He made us loop—" I twirled my pointer finger in a circle to illustrate my meaning, "—back and we didn't notice. At least, until I used my wand—"

"Your wand?"

I explained to him what I had said to Draco and Hermione earlier in the infirmary and he listened to all of this with a troubled expression.

"He has Ravenclaw's Locket..." he murmured to himself, steepling his hands underneath his chin. His expression was so eerily reminiscent of Hermione's that I half expected him to announce he was off to the Library. "That complicates things..."

"Yeah, no kidding. But at least now we can tell—"

"There's a meeting tonight." I stopped in the middle of my sentence.

"What?"

His eyes met my own. "Riddle's group. Ron and I are going."

I didn't know what to say. "Oh."

'Riddle's group'...Death Eaters.

"You aren't going to get the Dark Mark, are you?" I blurted out suddenly. There was a moment of shocked silence and Harry laughed.

"No, no, nothing like that... I hope, anyway," he gulped, an anxious expression crossing his features. "Riddle invited us himself."

"Not out of the blue, surely?"

Harry looked guilty. "No... Ron and I asked to come."

I twiddled my thumbs for a moment, not looking at his face. Silence filled the room.

"What do you think you'll do, there?" I asked, still not looking up. "The Unforgivables? Raise an army of Inferi? Virgin sacrifice?"

"Actually," Harry said, looking like he was holding back laughter, "I think we're just going to introduce ourselves to the other Slytherins."

"This isn't funny," I said in a low voice. "You know what this means, don't you? If you go through with this."

"Yeah, we went over this, Ari, he'll have a closer eye on us, one slip up can mean our downfall—"

"And," I interrupted, "he can tell you what to do. That's what it is, to be Riddle's lackey, isn't it? He could make you do anything... curse, torture, ki—no, maybe not that, that's more _his _kinda thing. And, of course, you'd have to, because if you didn't... he'd know something's off..."

He was silent for a moment; I could tell he was thinking about what I just said. "Ron and I would find a way out," he said finally.

"He could make the five of us stop meeting together."

"We have the Invisibility Cloak. And the Map."

"He already knows there's something strange about us. He'd have people tailing us... tailing _you_..."

Harry smiled unexpectedly. "Isn't that the point? To get his attention?"

"Yes, but—"

Voices filled the room suddenly as the others began to file in and I stopped in the middle of my sentence.

"Weasley, you can't possibly hope to just _ask_ the Dark Lord—"

"Will you stop calling him that?" said Ron, an irritated red coloring the tips of his ears. "He's not your master anymore, you know…"

Draco looked furious. "No. He's yours."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron demanded and Hermione sighed all-knowingly. "What're you sighing for, then?"

"Well it's obvious, isn't it?" Hermione pointed out, crossing one leg over the other as she slumped in her green pouffe. "Riddle has control over you, as the leader of the Knights of Walpurgis."

"Stupidest name I ever heard," I muttered under my breath. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Weasley here," said Draco, gritting his teeth, "had the bright idea of simply asking the Da—_Riddle_ if he could have a look at his jewellery."

"I _said _Locket!"

"Well we're going to have a right piece of work getting him to say yes then, aren't we?" said Harry impatiently. "We need to get the Locket back to 1997, but obviously it's a little harder to do now…"

"As if it was a breeze before, hey, Potter?" snapped Draco, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Stop it, all of you!" cried Hermione, finally losing her temper. "None of you are making this any easier, and—_I can't think!_"

The bickering ended then, all four of us shocked into silence.

"Thank you," she said, letting out a sigh. "Right. So, then…let's look at the hard facts. Riddle has the First Locket, the one that Dumbledore requires us to bring to the future. He can control Time, and by extension, our actions. However, we have Ari's wand to act as an indicator for when he's using it—"

"Ari's wand?" asked Ron with a bemused expression.

"—but we can't have that with us all the time, can we?" Hermione continued, ignoring him. "So, our most pressing question is: how do we manage to get the Locket from him without him using the Locket on us?"

"I could do it," I suggested. "He's my Potions partner, it wouldn't be too hard to just make a passing comment on it while we're working."

Harry shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea. You've already drawn too much attention to yourself, Ari, and we can't afford to have all his suspicions focused on one person only."

"Isn't that the point?" I said quietly. "To get his attention?"

He frowned, but Hermione jumped in before he could say anything else.

"Ari, he's right," she said seriously. "Judging by what you said, Riddle already knows that you're—on some level- aware of what the Locket can do. He's probably made a note to himself to watch you in future… I think it would be too dangerous to draw all of his attention on you alone."

"So what, then?" I said, feeling frustrated. "Sit back and do nothing?"

"Lie low. Harry and Ron are—well, should be, by tonight—in his little "club" and Draco and I can do the late night research on temporal magic—" Draco looked horrified at the prospect "—in the Library. You have to act normal and keep up this pretense of normality for us."

I stared at the ceiling, biting my lip.

"Fine."

* * *

"Where are you going, Ari?" Ron asked. I had one hand on the doorhandle.

"I left my Charms book in the classroom," I explained. "I want to get it back before dinner— Pringle might confiscate it thinking it's a bag of Dungbombs in disguise."

"Ah, that Apollyon Pringle," Ron said fondly. "Sort of makes you miss Filch and his thumbscrews, eh?"

I closed the door behind me and headed for Flitwick's classroom, in the Charms Corridor. When I arrived, I hastily let myself in through the double doors Myrtle had emerged through this morning. I felt a twinge of guilt as I remembered her tearstained face when I met her in the bathroom and resolved to somehow make it up to her when I could…or if I remembered.

I found my book, kicked underneath the twin desks Draco and I had shared and picked it up. Dusting it off with the sleeve of my robes, I shoved it into my bag with one hand as I exited the doorway. I had only taken two steps before I collided heavily with someone. My bag slipped out of my fingers and fell to the floor, its contents spilling.

"Oh, I'm sorr—oh." My apology was cut off as I stared at the tall, handsome young man in front of me. "Hello."

"Hello, Miss de Lioncourt." Riddle responded politely. "What are you doing back in the Charms classroom when it's almost time for dinner?"

I bent down and began to pack up my books, trying to hide my eyes nervously darting around the corridor. It was entirely deserted; no one to come to my aid if things went...awry.

_Lie low._

"I left something," I said, holding up my Charms textbook for him to see before I put that in my bag also. One hand fumbled around in my pocket and closed tightly around my wand, which was as still and silent as a piece of dead wood. None of the thrumming energy I had felt earlier, so I took that as a good sign- I was still in 'real' time. Still, I felt very defensive, and it was with that tone that I next addressed him. "Why, what are you doing?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I was patrolling."

"Pa—oh, yeah," I said as my eye caught the silver Prefect badge gleaming brightly on the front of his robes. "Well, good for you."

I reached a hand out for the last book lying on the floor—Dumbledore's book—but Riddle had swiftly picked it up before I could touch it.

My blood froze; my entire body stiffened.

"Give that back," I said to him, fighting to keep my voice steady. Dark eyes glinted strangely at my response and he raised the hand holding the book, as if he hadn't realized he was holding it.

"This?"

"Give it back," I repeated, and we stayed like that for a moment, locked eye to eye, before he extended it towards me. I breathed a sigh of relief as I beheld it once more. But it the old covers slipped through my fingers and it fell with an echoing thud on the floor of the stone corridor, its pages wide open.

_No, no, he'll see...!_

I stopped and then stared at it. The pages were blank. Wiped clean of the slim, spidery handwriting I had perused over only little more than an hour ago. Feeling Riddle's eyes on me and fighting to hide my relief, I shoved it roughly into my bag and stood up.

My nerves were tense, drawn taut like wire on a violin and I avoided looking directly at the dark haired wizard as I tried to make my way past his tall figure.

"A moment, please, Miss de Lioncourt."

Sheer intimidation made me stop in my tracks, my body obeying the order hidden in his voice immediately. I wanted to scream.

"Don't call me that," I said instead. "It's just—just Ari, or Ariadne, if you prefer."

It almost made me smile when I looked back and saw that Riddle looked momentary confused, before his face was rearranged in polite puzzlement once more. "I'm sorry, but I don't feel I know all that well..."

"Well, you had no problem saying it this morning, didn't you?" I said without thinking, remembering my 'acceptance' to Slughorn's invitation. My face twisted into a scowl.

There was a short silence; it occurred to me then that I had come across as far too hostile for the situation. Chagrin swept through me and I was almost about to apologize before Riddle spoke again.

"Fine, then. Ariadne." My eyebrows pulled together slightly; I hadn't thought he would actually comply. "I was meaning to speak to you about my behaviour, lately..."

That was the last thing I had expected to hear. "What?"

"I would like to apologize," Riddle said very seriously, clasping his hands behind his back in a picture of earnestness. "I understand that I may not have been at my most... welcoming when we first met in the Library and I am aware that my manners had suffered immensely as a result. I was under a great deal of stress then, although that is no excuse—"

"Riddle. Stop." I held up a hand, unable to process the situation presented to me. The Dark Lord, apologizing? Not even Luna could have hallucinated this in her dizziest daydreams. "Why are you apologizing for that?"

Riddle frowned slightly. "I assumed that was the source of your irritation towards me, is it not?"

"Well...yeah," _Not really, _I thought, "but why does it matter?"

"Miss d—Ariadne." I was starting to regret asking him to call me by my first name. Mainly because it sounded far too good in wrapped in his voice. "Contrary to what you may feel, I don't wish to start off the school year by making enemies."

I was beginning to understand, now. _Making enemies... of course, because you'd get more information out of us if we were friends, wouldn't you?_

"Furthermore," he continued, "if we're to be partners, I would very much prefer to have a healthy working relationship with the source of fifty percent of my term grade."

I almost smiled then: Voldemort, a closet nerd. Or just a more good looking nerd than any that have ever existed before...

But I knew what I had to do. To Riddle, this was just a game, a way to gather information on his curiosity of the five strangers that had trespassed on his home turf. Making enemies with him would not benefit us in any way; on the other hand, becoming _acquaintances..._

_You have to act normal and keep up this pretense of normality for us._

I smiled at him. "I accept your apology."

He smiled too and I was certain that the expression had a greater effect on me that mine had on him; he looked like an ebony haired angel. _A vicious, murdering, psychotic Angel of Death..._ "Shall I escort you to the Great Hall, then?"

I really would never get used to this 1940's polite society, even as I gingerly took the arm he offered to me like it was dangerous python I held in my hand instead. "Uh...sure."

We both turned simultaneously in the other direction and began to walk. To be hanging off someone's arm was a sensation I was far from accustomed to; I felt like I should have been wearing a floaty skirt and heels like a classic movie star instead of slightly big, second hand robes.

"So how are you finding your stay at Hogwarts so far?" Riddle asked me.

I thought for a moment and seeing no harm in the question, I decided to tell the truth. "I think it's amazing. Really amazing. I've never seen anything like...this..." I waved vaguely at the ceiling, "...before in my life."

"I know what you mean," he said quietly and I darted a glance at his face. Hidden in my pocket, my hand tightened its grip on my alder wand. "But what of your former school? Was it very different there, in Drachenrache?"

It sounded like an innocent question, though I knew better. Unfortunately, I didn't know how to answer it. It was obvious Riddle had done his research—I knew nothing about my supposed 'former school' and a single ill chosen word would lessen our story's already questionable credibility. "Um..."

"Miss de Lioncourt?"

Riddle stiffened and I turned around. "Professor Dumbledore!"

The old man smiled. "Hello, dear. I'm afraid to cut your traipsing in the moonlight short but, I would like a quick word."

"Uh... yeah, sure." I turned to Riddle who looked like he had been sculpted from marble, with the amount of tension that radiated off him, although it never showed on his features. "I guess I'll see you...around."

He smiled mechanically and gracefully inclined his head. To Dumbledore, he gave a terse nod. "Professor."

"Tom," Dumbledore said softly, blue eyes piercing. Riddle seemed to tense even more before he turned on his heel and left, robes whipping out behind him.

When the sound of his footsteps had completely faded away, I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and leaned against a nearby stone pillar. "Man oh man... what am I doing..."

"I suspect, pondering deeply upon the mysteries of life."

I jumped; I had almost forgotten about Dumbledore, who now stood smiling across from me. I was once again startled by the auburn color of his hair and had to remind myself that this was a different Dumbledore from the one we had left behind.

"Professor... thanks, you really got me out of a tight spot just then..."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean, my dear," Dumbledore replied, twiddling his thumbs. I blinked.

"Er...right."

He swept out midnight blue satin- covered arm at the long corridor that lay ahead of us. "Shall we go for a walk?"

I nodded and followed him.

We took the pathway I recognized as leading to the greenhouses we used for Herbology, though we didn't venture outside of the castle. Dumbledore began to slow down around this point and we both looked through the stone archways that overlooked the grounds. It was already dark and I could just make out the thin sickle of the crescent moon in the sky.

When Dumbledore next spoke, his voice was quieter and his tone more sombre than the one he had used earlier. "You and your friends have undertaken a very dangerous task, Miss de Lioncourt. Time and Fate... they are forces not to be tampered with."

I hugged my arms across my chest and stared out a nearby archway. "Yeah, you told me."

"You're referring to my future self?"

I nodded. "Yes. The one who gave us this mission in the first place." I wasn't sure why I tacked on that last sentence yet I felt a rush of fierce approval and guilt run through me in equal measures as I said it.

"I see," Dumbledore said softly. A silence fell then, though it wasn't necessarily uncomfortable. It seemed Dumbledore was deep in thought. "Forgive me if I seem somewhat different from my older counterpart, dear. Experience, I'm afraid, has not yet had the time to fully sink its teeth..."

I backtracked immediately. "I didn't mean—"

He held up a hand. "An apology is quite unnecessary. Miss de Lioncourt. Lemon drop?"

I blinked at the small beaded bag suddenly thrust into my face. "Oh, thanks." I took one and put it into my mouth. There was another silence as we both chewed, I having trouble unsticking the sweet from my back teeth.

Dumbledore spoke again, perhaps having sensed that I had now successfully swallowed the candy. "I see you have met young Tom Riddle."

I shrugged. "Yeah. He's my partner for Potions."

Dumbledore actually chuckled. "How very fortunate!"

I wrinkled my nose. "Do you really think so, sir?"

He hesitated for a moment. "Tom is...brilliant, Miss de Lioncourt. But I ask you to be careful around him. He has charmed older women than yourself—"

"Professor, I—trust me. I'm not charmed by Riddle. He's sick. Twisted and insane, he..." I took a deep breath, "the things he's done as Voldemort...it's unforgivable."

Dumbledore surveyed me for a moment, his light blue eyes performing their usual x-ray trick. "You have lost family." It wasn't a question.

I glanced at him. "My parents. But not by Voldemort's doing, no. In fact, I think you're talking to the wrong person about this, Professor. You see, I—I don't belong here." I ran a hand through my hair and took another deep breath. "I was born in 1993. I was torn from my time in 2010 by something—I don't know what—and brought to the year 1997. I wasn't born a witch. I only became one after I time travelled."

The words tumbled out one after another like a confession; I didn't dare look over at Dumbledore's face as I continued to speak.

"I don't know what I'm doing here," I admitted. "I know I have to be—but what am I supposed to do? Everyone else knows what to do, they have their plans. I don't. It's like I'm just tagging along, doing nothing, helping no one..."

"Miss de Lioncourt," I looked up and caught the smile and kind look of the Dumbledore I remembered and almost immediately felt better despite myself. "You must learn the value of patience."

I stared. "Hm. Well, anyway, at least now that I've got into Riddle's good graces, it might make taking him out a lot easier..." I mused over that train of thought for a moment before I remembered who I was talking to.

Dumbledore had an unusually grave expression on his relatively unlined face. Another silence hung between us; this made me nervous.

"Do you think it's a bad idea?" I asked him.

"I cannot make judgements, Ari," he said gently.

"There's no other way, though. There's no other way to stop him."

"I understand." A tiny, chiming noise sounded suddenly and I looked around. Dumbledore looked at his watch, a strange one with planets instead of numbers, and his expression became one of someone who was pleasantly surprised. "Oh, it does appear that dinner is about to start soon... shall we go then, Ari?"

"Yes... oh wait, sir, I have to return my books to my room."

He nodded and we parted ways then, moving in opposite directions. I had just reached the end of the corridor when I heard him call my name.

"Miss de Lioncourt?"

I turned around.

A mischievous twinkle was in his eyes and I backed away warily. _Something's up..._

"That's a rather nasty looking papercut."

* * *

"Ah…you came!" Alphard greeted them with a wide smirk, taking his feet off of the long wooden table in front of him.

"Wouldn't miss this for the world, mate," Ron replied with a grin of his own. Harry looked around the dungeons; it surprised him how man faces he recognized already.

"Where's Riddle?" he asked.

Alphard tensed slightly and then relaxed immediately so that Harry felt uncertain as to whether he'd imagined his discomfort. "Probably at the Library or something. Don't know how he can stand it, if you ask me…oh, we haven't been properly introduced, have we? I'm Alphard Black. Over there," he pointed to one of the Slytherin boys on the opposite end of the long table, "is my brother, Cygnus, right git he is. And that's Mulciber, Rookwood…you've met Avery already…Macnair, Nott, Travers…"

He continued to list off names and it was with a slight jolt that Harry realized he recognized nearly all of them: they were all the surnames of convicted Death Eaters. Avery looked over at this point and noticed Harry and Ron.

"Ah, there they are," he said, making the other Death Eaters look over as well. "Thought you wouldn't turn up."

"You were wrong, then," said Harry coldly. Avery raised his hands in a gesture of peace.

"Don't take everything so personally, Evans. You didn't really seem to get along with Riddle earlier, I was merely stating my opinion."

Harry refused to let someone who had killed more people than he had fingers on his hands guilt him into acting nicer. "Fine."

Ron stepped in then, preventing the inevitable awkward silence. "So, what do you do? In these meetings?"

Avery raised an eyebrow. "You'll see," he said infuriatingly.

Alphard snorted, putting his feet on the table again. "Oh come off it. It's not that big a secret." He began to explain to Ron, yawning widely as he did so. "Riddle's sort of the leader of our group so normally we wait—"

But Harry was not listening to Alphard; instead, his attention was caught by the conversation taking place across the table in hushed whispers by two of the other Slytherins. Alphard had mentioned their names: Mulciber and Travers.

"—Merrythought's class, I can't believe Slughorn managed to find another Boggart after what we did to the last one—" the bigger of the two, Mulciber, was saying.

The other boy, Travers, waved away his concerns impatiently. "Never mind that, what will Riddle do to us when he finds out?"

Harry watched as another Slytherin with curly brown hair walked over and joined in the discussion. "Mulciber, we need to talk." He cut in urgently.

Mulciber grunted. "Not now, Rookwood."

"It's important!" Rookwood said through bared teeth. "You have to tell Riddle that it's not going to work, I couldn't get it—"

The door to the dungeons opened with a heavy metallic thud. Immediately the room fell silent as Riddle emerged from the entrance. But it was as if a different Riddle had come, or so it seemed to Harry, one without the delicate charm and courtesy he presented each day to his professors and his peers. This Riddle was commanding, almost regal, and stripped of the mask of false modesty he wore like a crown. Magic, dark and powerful, crackled around him like thunder.

Riddle acknowledged them all with a single, sweeping glance. "I see we're all here." His eyes lingered on Ron and Harry and then he swept to the front of the room, taking his seat at the head of the table. There was a short pause; it seemed every person in the room was literally holding their breath to hear him speak.

"Welcome, my friends, to the first meeting of the Order of the Knights of Walpurgis. I imagine you must all be thrilled." His voice was dry, and although snickers erupted around the room at his words, Harry sensed that Riddle was feeling very much annoyed by something.

"We have new blood among our ranks, so it is best that I first make the introductions. I am not in the mood for candid frivolity tonight, so I shall breach the topic directly." Riddle leaned forward, his mouth twisting into a slight smile. "It is common knowledge that wizards and witches of our age have been taught to fear—even loathe the Dark Arts. At Hogwarts is where this prejudice is at its most obvious. The professors refuse to teach it, instead choosing to teach a weaker subject—_defence _against such magic. I believe that this should be corrected.

"We are not children, to be spoonfed what is 'good' and what is 'bad' in this world. We are old enough, and wise enough to understand that there is, in fact, no good and no evil…there is only power. To have such knowledge of the Dark Arts is power." He paused. "Power over your enemies and foes…power which I will gladly share with you."

Riddle looked directly over at where Harry and Ron were sitting. "I will teach you what I know of the Dark Magics. I have delved, yes, maybe too far, in this field…I can teach you spells more powerful than even your professors would dare to imagine.

"Why do I do this, you may ask?" It was as if he had lifted the question directly out of Harry's mind. "It is because I believe that the wizarding world is at war. Not Grindelwald's—but rather a war that has existed beneath our very eyes, yet unbeknownst to us, since the dawn of Time itself. I believe that it is time to assert who is dominant in this world and quell any ignorance of our own magic because of _fear._" He hissed the last word like it was something vulgar on his tongue. "I will create a stronger, better world where wizards like ourselves are free to practise our gifts without prejudice nor mistrust: a world where we will hide no longer from lesser, inferior beings." Harry saw Abraxas Malfoy straighten up in his chair at that and it struck him then how Riddle must have gained so many followers during his rise as Voldemort. It was not only in the way he spoke, or presented himself, but in how he tailored his speech almost perfectly to suit the deepest desires of his audience… each word like a key fitting into a lock. "And I will do this with you—all of you at my side."

Riddle stood up then and the fire that had burned in his dark eyes had quelled somewhat, becoming muted once more. When he next spoke, it was with a quieter tone, and addressed to Harry and Ron alone.

"Will you join me?"

Harry stood up as well and met Riddle's eyes. Ignoring the searing flash of pain in his forehead, he answered.

"I will."

* * *

_I remember you._

"Funny," the old crone said, twiddling her gnarled fingers together without looking at me, "and yet you seem to have forgotten everything else."

I didn't understand what she meant, but I pressed on anyway. _I'm dreaming, aren't I? _

"Yes, you are."

A short silence ensued.

_How come I couldn't remember this when I was awake? _I asked.

I thought the old crone could have been leering, though nothing in her twisted face showed any sign of it. "You weren't supposed to."

I was still busy scratching my head over this potentially problematic answer when she spoke again. "This is the last time I can speak to you like this. My Sisters are already becoming suspicious."

_What is it that you want to tell me?_

"You weren't imagining it."

_Imagining what?_

"Ari."

_What?_

"Wake _up_, damn you!" Draco hissed in my ear and my eyes flew open as I groggily unstuck my cheek from the pages of the Transfiguration textbook in front of me.

"Wuzzhappin?" I mumbled, blinking at my surroundings. I realized that I was sitting at the Gryffindor table; a few seats away, several elegant fifth years pointed at my face and giggled primly behind their hands. I wiped a spot of drool off my chin and turned to Draco, who looked disgusted.

"We have Defence Against the Dark Arts now," he pointed out. "Ari, would you kindly explain why you're sleeping during lunch?"

"I forgot about the Herbology homework Professor Radvire gave us last week," I replied tiredly, pushing a few strands of hair out of my eyes. "Two rolls of parchment on dirigible plums, of all things..."

We stood up together and I followed him to our next class, teetering slightly as I walked. I reached into the pocket of my robes and took a swig of the Madame Laroche's headache tonic and the pounding in my head eased somewhat.

It had been a little over a week since the Death—Knights of Walpurgis meeting that Ron and Harry had attended. There hadn't been a word about another meeting since, which set all of us on edge. I kept on replaying in my mind what Harry had relayed to us.

"_Rookwood kept on saying something about how it "wasn't going to work"… what d'you think he could've been talking about, d'you reckon?"_

I had no clue.

"Alright, class," Professor Merrythought announced, rapping his wand smartly on the raised lectern. "Pay attention...that means you too, Black..."

A dark-haired Slytherin leaning on the back legs of his chair and talking rather animatedly to Harry, who sat next to him, fell silent with a smirk and a proud toss of his head.

"Now. You remember in your third year that you have covered all dangerous magical creatures such as Hinkypunks, Kappas, Chimaeras..."

"Chimaeras?" I murmured to Draco on my left and he shrugged.

"I suppose they held less regard for safety in the 40's..."

"However, due to several...er, complications, you have not yet had the chance to study Boggarts," Merrythought continued, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "But thanks to Professor Slughorn, we have managed to procure one for this lesson. Now, a Boggart is a shape-shifter that takes on the form of the worst fear of its intended victim..."

I saw the back of Ron's fiery head twitch slightly a few desks ahead of us and fought a smile. No doubt he was thinking something along the lines of 'giant spiders'. I felt my own smile dissipate, however, when I remembered that I'd have to face the Boggart as well.

_There's a big difference between reading about it and doing it... _I rubbed my eyes. What was my worst fear? I didn't know. I was afraid of lots of things: worms, heights, falling, being upside down, the dark. None of them in particular seemed to jump out, though...

"...and I'll be having someone come along later to help move the wardrobe. I want you all to form a single line, to perform the spell on the Boggart each in turn..."

Reluctantly, I left my desk and fell in line behind a mousy haired girl who I recognized from my dormitory. My hand clenched and unclenched around the wand in my pocket in my nervousness. I only hoped that what my Boggart would turn into wouldn't be too embarrassing...or frightening.

A boy with platinum blond hair and an arrogant, pointed face went first. At the appearance of his Boggart, several people screamed; it was a great, red dragon with bulbous yellow eyes. Sparks flew from its nostrils as it breathed and it reared its scaly head back, ready to attack—

"_Riddikulus_!" shouted the boy and with a _crack!_ the dragon transformed into a small white kitten, who squeaked pitifully on the floor. Shouts of laughter echoed around the room but Draco remained looking very pale beside me.

"That's grandfather Abraxas," he said, eyes fixed on the other Slytherin in a sort of half-fascinated horror. "He died of dragon pox."

The next person's Boggart was a naked corpse twisted so that it scuttled around on its arms and legs with its torso facing the ceiling; there was a _crack!_ and it became a sluggish red crab; then a writhing, twisted mass of black leeches which transformed into a mound of glitter; then a headless knight in rusted armour atop a dark horse with flashing red eyes which turned into a painted wooden rocking horse. It was Ron's turn then: a giant spider who clicked its pincers menacingly before a _crack!_ and it became a dangling child's mobile whose movements mimicked the jerking of the creature's legs…

I stepped forward, wand held ready.

"Ah, there you are Mr Riddle! Excellent timing, I think we're nearly done here… just after Miss de Lioncourt finishes this Boggart off…"

Fiercely alarmed, my head snapped towards the person leaning casually against the doorway of the classroom, looking almost bored; our eyes met. A single shudder ran through the piece of wood in my hand then, from the handle to its very tip and I gasped out loud, nearly dropping it.

_No…!_

I turned my head towards the child's mobile that floated in front of me…except it was no longer there. Out of the fine, smoky mist that normally preceded the appearance of a new Boggart, something formed—

The figure that emerged from the shadows was inhumanly thin and tall, to the point of skeletal. It had no blurred, heavily distorted and barely discernable features but the deathly pale face gleamed white—

-_a flash of silver—_

-it extended a single arm towards me, beckoning, beckoning—

-_a burst of green and then all was red-_

-and the_ eyes_—

Several people in the classroom screamed; I took a few stumbling steps backward, crashing into the wooden desk behind me.

"Oh Jesus," I gasped out, as the figure drew closer to me, moving like mist across water. I could feel its icy breath on my cheek—

"Here!" shouted Harry, throwing himself in front of the phantom. The figure paused, almost as if confused, before it transformed into a hooded monster with slimy, rotting hands and deathly cold breath. "_Riddikulus!_"

The Dementor exploded into wisps of smoke and the temperature of the room began to return to normal. A fine mist of cold sweat covered my body from head to toe and I was shaking against the icy wood of the desk behind me, as if fevered. My legs felt dead and wooden and there was a strange numbness in my hands despite the fierce grip I still maintained on my wand.

"Harry…" I whispered. Emerald eyes found my own and I saw that his face was white, strained.

"Well, er…yes, thank you, Miss de Lioncourt, Mr Evans…that was a nice finish…yes… five points apiece to Gryffindor and Slytherin…" Professor Merrythought didn't seem to know what to say, so he addressed Riddle instead, discussing in low tones where to move the wardrobe from which the Boggart had emerged.

I stayed rooted to the spot, unable to move despite feeling Riddle's intense gaze at the side of my head and hearing the whispers that began to spread around the room.

"Come on." A hand grabbed my arm roughly and I followed Draco obediently back to my desk, sitting down with mechanical precision. For the remainder of the lesson, I stayed in the same position, both hands clenched tightly at the edge of the desk, back ramrod straight as I stared directly ahead of me. I couldn't seem to pay attention to anything Merrythought was saying, and I had the feeling that it was the same case with Draco beside me.

Finally, after what seemed a mere moment, the class ended and I moved robotically with the flow of black-clad students through the door. Then I felt Draco grab my arm again and steer me forcefully into one of the deserted side-corridors.

"Ouch, Draco, you're hurting me…"

He let go and crossed both arms over his chest, staring at me with an expression I could not decipher. Ron and Harry found us then, and soon we formed a tense, quiet circle.

Harry spoke first, quietly. "Ari, what was your Boggart?"

"My…" I felt a current of white-hot anger pass through me then, crackling like fire in every cell of my being. "Why does that matter?"

"Ari, we need to know."

"Why?" I fired at him, taking a few steps backward. "Why don't you mind your own damn business?"

Draco made a sudden movement towards me and an intense irrational fear flooded my mind and clouded my thoughts; I turned on my heel and fled.

There was no specific destination in my mind as I ran. The uneven rhythm of my footfalls matched the pounding of my heart and it was this sort of mindless energy that I continued.

When Harry finally found me, out of breath and panting, I was curled against the stone wall behind me, arms around my knees.

"Ari… look…"

"My Boggart," I said, without looking at him. "is the man who murdered my parents."

The was a short silence and then Harry took a few steps forward. He knelt down so that his face was in level with my own and his eyes glinted strangely in the dim light of the corridor. When he next spoke, it was almost a whisper.

"And mine."

* * *

We walked in silence, the sounds of our footsteps echoing against the walls of the corridor. I felt strangely calm, my head clear and unclouded.

"Harry, that can't be possible." I broke the comfortable silence with a small pang of regret. "I've never even seen Voldemort face to face before."

He tilted his head to the side slightly to look at me out of the corner of one eye. "You've met Riddle."

"You know what I mean." I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "Maybe you just made a mistake…"

"Ari," we both stopped and he looked me directly in the eyes. "I've duelled him a year ago."

I felt embarrassed. "Right…I'm sorry."

Another silence fell.

"Do you…" Harry trailed off.

"What?"

He looked slightly uncomfortable. "Do you remember how they died?"

_A flash of silver. _"No. I don't."

He nodded slowly, as if he'd been expecting my answer. "How old were you?"

"Thirteen." I caught his look and elaborated, "Snape said I had a sort of…mental block about it. I dunno."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I smiled. "No."

He nodded again and we continued to walk in silence until I broke it once more. "Riddle saw."

"I doubt he'd guess the truth, for some reason, though."

"He makes me nervous," I confessed.

"Really? He makes me violent."

I chuckled despite myself and Harry smiled. "Besides—"

He stopped suddenly and the smile slid from my face like grease. "What?"

Harry shook his head at me and brought a finger to his lips, telling me to be quiet. His head was cocked to one side as if listening to something and I looked around the deserted corridor nervously.

"What is it?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowed. Then he drew a sharp breath and began to hiss and spit without surcease, the sounds reverberating around us. I stared at him in shock; _Parseltongue?_

Harry continued like this for a while longer, pausing for short periods of time as if listening to his unseen partner in this unintelligible conversation. I thought that if I listened hard enough I could hear the faintest sounds of hissing in reply… but perhaps that was my own imagination, and nothing more.

Finally Harry stopped. "Ari, come on."

He grabbed my hand and dragged me in the opposite direction of where we were going, half jogging, away from the Great Hall. Bewildered as I was, I followed him without complaint, having heard the urgency in his voice.

When we reached yet another turn however, I had to ask him. "Harry, where are we—oh. _Oh._ Oh my God…"

One hand found its way to my mouth as I stared, with eyes as wide as saucers, at the words, painted in gleaming scarlet on the grey surface of the stone wall above us.

_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware._

It was like having a hammer taken to the back of my head, this rush of extreme déjà vu and terrible awareness. Fear rose its ugly head as I reread the words, no longer fine black print in a pocket book, but as foot long letters, bright scarlet and dripping.

"We have to get Professor Dum—" The rest of his words were cut off by the sound of a terrifying roar; we both jumped and looked towards the source of the sound. Harry and I exchanged glances and then almost simultaneously began to run straight towards the Great Hall where the roar became at its loudest.

We burst through the twin doors and the sound nearly deafened us; it took a moment for me to realize that it wasn't a roar of some great beast after all, but rather, the collective scream of the entirety of the students of Hogwarts.

It was obvious that we had barged in during the middle of dinner; nearly everyone was still at their respective House tables, and the sumptuous scent of roast meat wafted to us at the back of the Hall. Yet each and every student's face was upturned, as if looking towards the heavens and slowly, inch by inch, Harry and I followed their gazes.

There was a body in the air. Suspended horizontally, stiff as cardboard, underneath the perfect, starry sky of the enchanted ceiling. The girl's head was lolling to one side and a thin stream of blood trickled from her mouth and stained the pristine white collar of her uniform. Her face was covered by her curly hair.

"Myrtle…?" croaked out Harry from somewhere beside me and slowly, I shook my head, sticky sweat trailing down the back of my spine.

"No…" I whispered. "Not Myrtle…"

There was a flash of lightning, a crack of thunder—

And then Olive Hornby's lifeless body hit the marble floor of the Great Hall with a sickening crunch.

**A/N: Soo… what did you think, guys? Worth the wait?**

**Writing Riddle's speech was so darn hard… that was the one I kept on rewriting, and I'm still not that happy about it…I haven't written in third person for **_**three years**_** and I'm trying to remember the rhythm of it…gah.**

**Also, I spent **_**ages**_** trying to figure out the whole 'pureblood' family tree for the 1944 Slytherins…**

**Leave some love (I mean **_**reviews**_**), alright?**

**Peace out,**

**N**


	11. Doppelganger

**Disclaimer: **I disclaim.

**A/N: **Hello everyone! Here's Chapter 10.

Oh, and _finally_ some fluff-ish stuff between Ari & Riddle...but it's not what you think. Heh.

**24/09/11: Sorry again for the re-post, FF (dot) net's not letting me change stuff again. Goshdarnit.**

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 10: Doppelganger**

_And then Olive Hornby's lifeless body hit the marble floor of the Great Hall with a sickening crunch._

It was chaos.

Everywhere, masses of black-clad figures were shrieking, crying out, toppling over one another in their efforts to get away from the center of the room. Like a strange sea, they gushed past anything that stood still and burst through the entrance doors of the Great Hall. They noise was overwhelming.

They pushed past Harry and I roughly, ignoring us as if we were tables and chairs, and then suddenly I saw him collapse to his knees, holding his head in pain. Panicking a little, I fought my way past the people, using elbows and knees to carve a path through the crowd. I finally reached him, grabbing him by the back of his robes and yanking him out of the way of the mindless, terrified stampede.

"He's angry," he muttered, as I forced him to lean against one of the stone pillars at the side of the room. His head was cradled in his hands. "He's furious..."

"Riddle?"

Harry was digging his knuckles into his forehead now, pummelling it viciously. "Something's gone wrong...this wasn't supposed to—"

"_Silence!_"

Our heads snapped up to look to the front of the room and even the crowd halted as well, blindly obeying the authority thrumming in Dumbledore's voice. Beside the old wizard, Dippet stood, red faced and discomfited.

"You will return to your House common rooms at once," he thundered, his voice rolling in waves across the Hall. "You will stay there until your Head of House informs you otherwise. I repeat, you will return to your House common rooms..."

As the House Prefects began to shout and call out, ushering their respective students out of the chamber, Dumbledore's burning blue eyes found Harry and I at the back of the Hall. He shook his head slightly: _Do not follow._

And then a sudden picture of the Transfiguration office flashed into my mind; I blinked and saw that Dumbledore was no longer looking in our direction.

"Harry, do you have your Invisibility Cloak?"

"Left it in my trunk," he panted, staggering to his feet.

"Alright. C'mon then, before the Prefects see us..." I pushed him towards the shadowed sides of the Hall, darting my eyes anxiously around the whole time.

"It won't matter," Harry muttered, pushing his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. "Riddle's going to notice I'm gone, anyway..."

I swore under my breath and ducked down, forcing Harry to do the same and merged into the heaving crowd. Our school robes made us unrecognizable in the mass. Finally, we broke away from the body of students just outside the Great Hall entrance and stumbled along the deserted corridor.

"Where are we going?" asked Harry, one palm still pressed against his forehead as we walked.

"Dumbledore's office," I replied. Every time I blinked, the image of Olive Hornby's body flashed in front of me, as if seared into the back of my eyelids. Finally, we were in front of the same door I had blasted through only little more than a week earlier—though it felt longer—and I tried the handle. It was unlocked, so Harry and I slipped in, closing it behind us.

Inside it was mockingly quiet: it contrasted vividly with the pandemonium outside. There were two chairs already set up in front of Dumbledore's desk and I slumped into one of them. Harry followed suit and took the other.

I closed my eyes and saw the body falling through the air again; they snapped open. Determined to distract myself, I spoke.

"Can you still see into Voldemort's mind? I mean, is it the same with Riddle?"

"They're the same person, aren't they?" he pointed out, still scrubbing furiously at his scar. "How'd you even know about that anyway?"

I said the first name that came into my mind. "Hermione."

"Avery's copping most of his anger," Harry muttered abruptly, teeth bared. His hands were gripping the armrests of his chair so tightly that his knuckles stood out bone white against his skin. "Riddle thinks it's his fault..."

"Harry..." I said, "...you should be blocking this..."

He shook his head, lips pressed together tightly holding back what I thought might've been a pained noise. "No," he finally got out through gritted teeth. "We're already at a disadvantage with Riddle's Locket...I won't let us get taken by surprise. I'm going to use this...I need to know what he's thinking..."

The door opened then and we both jumped, turning in unison towards the person who had entered.

Dumbledore closed the door behind him, locked it silently with a flick of his wand and then moved to sit behind his desk. He steepled his fingers together and surveyed the both of us with a piercing blue stare that made me want to squirm in my seat. Then he said quietly, "I daresay the two of you know something about all of this."

"It's Riddle, Professor." Harry said. "He opened the Chamber."

Dumbledore's expression didn't change. "That is a very serious accusation to make, Harry."

"It's the truth," he said hotly.

"Professor..." I said hesitantly. "I don't quite understand...it wasn't Olive Hornby who was supposed to d—to die..."

Dumbledore looked at me intently. "How do you mean, Ari?"

"It was supposed to be Myrtle, sir. From Hufflepuff. I've...read...that she was the only person to ever be killed when the Chamber of Secrets first opened."

Harry gave me an odd look. "Yes, that's right sir."

There was a moment of silence; Dumbledore appeared to be in deep thought. "I think I can make a guess as to why that is so. However, that would mean several unfavourable implications if I were to be correct in my assumptions...

"Before I say this to you, however, may I ask one question?" His eyes searched ours for permission and we nodded mutely. He leaned forward. "Was your future in 1997, the one that led to the five of you coming here to 1944, the _single and original_ pathway that would have happened?"

Harry frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't understand..."

"I mean to say that is your future, your destiny and Fate, as it was supposed to progress?" Dumbledore clarified. "With you arriving in this time period?"

Harry was clearly bewildered by this line of questioning. "Yeah. Yeah, of cour—"

"No." I said and Harry stopped. "No, it wasn't...supposed to be this way, Professor."

"What are you talking about, Ari?" Harry asked and I couldn't meet his eyes.

"I thought as much," said Dumbledore sadly. "There were several signs, you see...allow me to explain.

"There are many complicated theoretical explanations for such a phenomena, but seeing as we are already short of time, here is a much simpler and much more concise way to put it: I believe that your presence in 1944 has had an effect on succeeding events. It has caused several changes to occur in the original timeline, the one that you, Ari, are familiar with."

"_What_ timeline?" Harry said, looking back and forth between Dumbledore and I. "Ari, what's going on?"

"I...is that why I ended up in 1997 as well, even though it wasn't supposed to happen?" I asked instead, ignoring Harry's infuriated look. "Because we had already messed up the timeline back in 1944?"

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Yes, that's right."

"But that doesn't make sense!" I said angrily. "_Something_ forced me out of my own time to 1997. I wouldn't have ended up in 1944 if that hadn't happened…and now you're telling me that I wouldn't have come to 1997 if I hadn't time travelled to 1944?"

The screwdriver was back in my head again, made worse by the fact that my thoughts were chasing each other round and round in circles. Though I had tried to talk out what had happened, I only felt more confused than ever. New, more pressing questions burst at the front of my mind like fireworks.

"Ari—"

"And what about my life in 2010?" I demanded. "Was I a witch or a Muggle first? How did Voldemort kill my parents? What happened to the Lockets? How—"

Dumbledore held up a hand then and I fell silent. "It is very unwise to dwell upon questions involving Time, Ari. It can drive one mad."

" But _Professor_…"

"Ari," he said gravely. "We both know that neither you nor I can answer any of the questions you have just asked. Time is a complex being…and very, very dangerous…"

"You make it sound as if it's a person, sir." Harry said uncomfortably.

The grey-haired wizard only smiled before carrying on, "I will say this however…it is very rarely that these knots, or tangles, in the Strands of Time occur without any cause. I believe that there must be a reason…some pivotal event, perhaps," here his eyes fixed on my own, "that may have allowed things to become…complicated."

A sharp stab of pain drove through my head then and I put a hand up to my forehead, massaging it distractedly. Dumbledore noticed and suddenly looked very weary.

"Both of you need rest. It has been a long night for everyone, and I daresay tomorrow will come almost too soon for our befuddled minds' liking…"

Harry and I nodded and stood up from our chairs, turning towards the door. We had barely taken three steps however, when Dumbledore called out to us again. "Ah! One more thing, first. I have taken the liberty of, er…manufacturing permission slips for any future trips to Hogsmeade you would wish to make. I expect you'd want to stay in those borrowed robes as much as I would like to become Minister of Magic, so you may get new uniforms and school supplies during the Hogsmeade trip this Friday."

Harry gave his thanks which I repeated after him and left through the door without looking back. I paused, glancing back at Dumbledore before I shut the door behind me.

"What was that all about?" Harry said as I joined him in the hallway. "What did you mean by "original timeline"?"

"The original pattern of events. How things would have gone if I had never arrived at Grimmauld Place."

"Hermione didn't tell you about my connection with Voldemort, did she?" he asked quietly.

"No, I lied. I'm sorry."

He sighed then and ran a hand through his hair. "So how would it have been then? What would've happened?"

"I…can't tell you, not when there's still a chance that everything in the original timeline could happen." I paused. "Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time."

His brow furrowed, and a small silence elapsed between us as we resumed walking. I could tell he was obviously less than satisfied with my answer…but would he have been any happier with the truth? I changed the subject.

"You were talking to the Basilisk, weren't you?"

Harry gave a short jerk of his head in affirmation. "Yeah."

I waited for him to elaborate, but he still seemed too annoyed with me to do so by himself so I pressed him further. "Did it tell you where to find the writing on the wall?"

"Sort of. It kept on dropping hints about something like a 'message' and I was trying to follow where the hissing was coming from…hang on," he said frowning. "How did you know I could speak…"

He caught the look I was giving him and his expression turned sour. "Fine, never mind. The main thing here is that Riddle had managed to somehow open the Chamber of Secrets from right under our noses despite the fact that we'd been watching his every move ever since we arrived."

"We must have slipped up, then," I said reasonably.

"Ari, Ron and I are with him nearly every moment of the day. Hermione takes nearly all of Riddle's advanced classes and you and Malfoy seem to just attract his attention wherever you go—"

"Draco?" I was surprised.

"He was asking Ron and I about the two of you this morning. About how you two were related."

I bit my lip. "Harry, unless Riddle can be in two places at once, there's no other way—oof!"

Something collided heavily into me and I stumbled backwards, falling onto my rear with an indignant expression. I looked around to see what I had run into and saw nothing but empty air in front of me.

"What the…?" I muttered, scrambling to my feet.

"It's us!" came Hermione's voice in a whisper from the blank space ahead. "Underneath the Cloak!"

Harry bent down slightly and whispered into the air. "The Cloak? How'd you get it from my trunk?"

"May I remind you that I was a Slytherin for longer than you were, Potter," I recognized Draco's voice say snidely. "I know my common room."

Harry shifted on the spot. "Alright, but…what're you doing under it?"

"What d'you think, mate?" I heard Ron's voice say. "You two weren't at dinner, so we definitely knew something was up, we weren't going to just stand around twiddling our thumbs…"

"Ron, this is dangerous, the Basilisk…!" hissed Harry urgently but Draco interrupted him.

"Shut up and get under the Cloak, I can hear someone coming."

We both moved forward tentatively, our hands outstretched; finally coming into contact with the familiar fabric, we both slipped under it. As always, it was an incredibly awkward fit, with Draco's face pressed somewhere between my shoulder blades and Hermione's hair finding a home in my mouth.

"Where are we going?" I whispered once I had managed to spit out most of the strands.

"We heard Professor Slughorn and Professor Merrythought say they were having a meeting with the other teachers somewhere along the Charms corridor…" Hermione replied, and I felt Harry nod from somewhere at my knees.

"That's where the writing on the wall is. Let's go."

Together we scuttled like a strange, many legged crab along the passageways that led to the scrawled blood message I had seen earlier and we were met with a group of teachers huddled underneath it. Their faces collectively expressed a range of emotions: grim certainty, fear, panic, indignation.

"—absolutely refuse to do this to do this anymore, Headmaster!" Professor Merrythought appeared to be saying emphatically to Dippet when we were close enough to hear. "Thirteen years, I've been teaching at Hogwarts, and no one can say that I'm unaware of the _hazards_ of my job—but _killings_? And then all this nonsense about the 'Chamber of Secrets'—"

"Not so loud!" Professor Slughorn hissed, glancing around.

"This has been going on for too long, Dippet." Merrythought continued in a hushed shout. "Last year, it was attacks on the Muggleborns, which was already bad enough. When young Tom Riddle caught Rubeus Hagrid in the act—" here Hermione uttered a small squeak, "—I thought this whole business would be finished! But now, barely a fortnight into term, a girl has been murdered!"

"Well, what else can we do, Augustus?" said Dippet with a weary sigh. "The Chamber, if there truly is one, is nowhere to be found. The same thing goes for the so called "Heir"."

"Dippet, I refuse to be a part of the staff if this continues!" cried Merrythought. "I do still hold regard for my safety!"

Slughorn let out a nervous chuckle. "Augustus…it's too soon to be make such rash decisions. Come now, good man…"

"In any case," Dippet said solemnly, "it won't even be necessary. The Board of Governors is getting anxious. I believe that if these attacks continue…well, Hogwarts may really be closed down this time."

No one spoke for a while after that; it seemed the full calamity of the situation had just crashed down upon them. It was Flitwick who spoke next.

"Where is Dumbledore?" his high-pitched, quavering voice inquired.

"Right here, Filius." Dumbledore's deeper voice replied smoothly from the corridor we had just come from and Harry yanked Ron and I backwards by our robes as he swept dangerously close to us. "I have just contacted Miss Hornby's parents. They say they will be arriving here tomorrow."

Another somber silence descended upon the group.

"This is…" Slughorn shook his gingery blond head slowly in disbelief, "…truly awful…"

"So it is, Horace." Dippet replied, taking out his wand and shaking back the sleeves of his velvet robes. "Come now, we had better get on with it…we can't afford out students to become more frightened than they are already…"

"Headmaster," Dumbledore said quietly, "you know my views on this. The students have their right to understand what is happening."

Dippet's face flushed an ugly, mottled red. "I refuse to leave this within sight of _children_, Dumbledore!" he cried angrily. "The sooner they forget about this, the better!"

He turned to the others in a whirl of purple fabric. "On three!"

The other wizards brought out their wands, some resignedly, and drew a pattern of fluid movements in the air. As they did, a stream of silver light emitted from each their wand tips, joining mid way to form one thick strand of light and snaking its way up to the blood-writing on the wall. After a moment, Dumbledore brought out his own and did the same.

"C'mon," muttered Harry out of the corner of his mouth as the red slowly began to fade away from the stone surface. Together, we moved away from the small group and back to the Room of Requirement.

Harry ripped off the Cloak from himself once we were outside the entrance and paced in front of the stretch of wall. We entered then, Hermione trailing at the back with her wand held ready, and closed the door behind us.

Ron was the last to pull off the Cloak. He stared around at the four of us. "What d'you reckon?"

Hermione curled her hands in her hair, shaking her head slowly. "I don't understand. I mean, it's obvious from what Professor Merrythought was saying that the Chamber's been opened before, but then…" she looked up, "why is Myrtle still alive?"

"I reckon the more important question is: why'd Riddle open it again?" Harry said.

"Well, he's not attacking Muggleborns specifically, at least…" I saw the surprised expressions on the others' faces. "Olive Hornby was a pureblood. She mentioned it during one of our Charms classes." A thought occurred to me then. "Do you think that's the reason why he's so angry? Because his pet accidentally killed a non-Muggleborn?"

Harry shook his head. "No. It's something else, I can tell, but…he's—not—really _thinking_ at the moment…" He held a hand up to his forehead and inhaled slowly through his nose. "Let's just say we can expect Avery to look a tad bit peaky next time we see him…"

Draco broke the resulting silence shakily, his face as pale and as bloodless as a sheet of paper. "Hasn't really changed much, has he?"

"Well Harry, he didn't look that angry," Hermione said reasonably and Harry looked up in disbelief. "Actually, quite the opposite; he looked almost smug when we passed him trying to find you."

"Passed him?" Harry repeated dumbly. "That can't be right…he was still in the dungeons when we all got under the Invisibility Cloak…"

"Maybe he was just really excited to perform his first Crucio of the school year, mate," Ron suggested helpfully. "Have to admit, it's not exactly out of character…"

Draco yawned unexpectedly, making me yawn as well and starting a chain reaction around the room. Harry tried his best to suppress it, but needless to say, failed miserably.

"Alright," he said with a resigned expression. "I guess we should go to bed…Ron, you go with Hermione to the Ravenclaw Tower, I don't want any of you going about alone in the corridors…Ari, Malfoy…"

Hermione brought out her wand and performed a sort of complex squiggle in the air, producing five small, oval hand mirrors which fell in a neat stack in her palm.

"Here," she said, passing one to each of us. "We have to take precautions now that the Basilisk's back…"

Gradually, we filed out of the room and parted ways; Draco and I did not speak for the entirety of the trip back to the Gryffindor Tower. I gave the password to the snoozing Fat Lady, who didn't appreciate being woken up, and headed straight to the girls' dormitory the instant the portrait swung shut behind me.

Inside the dormitory it was deathly quiet; everyone else was asleep. Without bothering to get undressed or take off my shoes, I flung myself on my bed, throwing my bag next to me.

The minutes ticked by as I just stared at the ceiling seeing but not really seeing the tiny cracks in its plaster surface, or the fading burgundy paint. In fact, the world could have lit itself on fire in that moment and I probably would not have noticed.

My parents were dead, yeah, I know. I know they were murdered. It's really not something that uncommon: you may look surprised, but I doubt you had to share a bathroom with at least five other kids whose family had gone the same way.

And now, I had even seen the face of their murderer.

Yet how was it possible?

How was it possible for a mere character, a figment of someone's imagination founded solely on paper and ink to irrevocably alter the course of my entire life? For some reason, I didn't doubt that it was, in fact, him. Of course it was him. But then what did that mean?

Am I real? Am I made up? If I _were_ a fictional character then surely, it would be possible then. A plot point to be toyed around with, played with.

I refuse to believe that.

My name is Ariadne de Lioncourt. I was here, I lived and breathed, just like my parents had before me and their parents, and their parents. I am not a combination of letters on a screen. How _dare _Riddle make me doubt myself, my own existence. How _dare_ he destroy my family, and my life. How _dare_ he force me to pretend that nothing was wrong now, here in 1944.

I had been a fool all this time, for not condemning him from the beginning. Draco was right. The bastard deserved to die.

Angrily, I sat up in bed; the action caused my bag to fall to the ground, spilling its contents on the floor. Rolling my eyes, I leaned over the edge of the bed to pick up the fallen items and my hand came into contact with the dry, leathery surface of Dumbledore's book. After a pause, I picked it up and opened it on my lap, flicking through the pages. When I came to where I had left off last time, my finger slipped over the edge of the thin page again and I cursed at the sight of the tiny bead of blood welling up from the cut. _What, are these pages made from razors or something?_

As I watched, the drop made its way to the end of my pointer finger, dangled precariously on the tip…and then fell on the page.

My shout of surprise broke the peaceful silence of the dormitory; more than one person hissed at me to keep it down as they tried to slip back into unconsciousness.

"_That's a rather nasty looking paper cut."_

That…that devious, scheming old man! I stared at the yellowed page of the book as words in scarlet red replaced the black ink of Dumbledore's own handwriting, covering page after page until all of the original text had been erased. Greedily I scanned the lengthy paragraphs…and then stopped, looking at the book in disbelief. I read the paragraph again.

I re read it.

One more time to make sure.

It was about Horcruxes. But not just _about_ them…it was almost…no, it was _exactly_ an instruction manual on how to make them. There was so much detail…the ingredients necessary for the spells, the incantations, the rituals and even…ugh. Drawings.

If I had ever been confused before, it was nothing to what I was feeling now. Why would Dumbledore think this would be helpful to us? And why blood? The book had its own defenses; it would wipe itself blank if anyone else tried to look at it. So why was my blood necessary?

And…

Did the others know about this? I had the sneaking suspicion that they in fact didn't; furthermore, that they weren't supposed to. Dumbledore surely would have told all of us if that were so.

It occurred to me that this was the Dumbledore of the future who had written this, who had known us and witnessed whatever it was we did in 1944. He had written this book with the very specific purpose of aiding us. I shivered. What had I done?

What was I _going_ to do?

* * *

Adarius Rookwood was not feeling his best. His stomach felt like a small platoon of fire toads were passing through for a bit of a kip, his head was spinning faster than a Sneakoscope around Malfoy and there were large, wet handprints on his robes from where his hands had been resting earlier.

To reiterate, Adarius Rookwood was not feeling his best. And it was because of a certain Mr Riddle, whom he now waited for as he paced anxiously back and forth the Slytherin common room. Eyes darting nervously, he glanced at the tall grandfather clock opposite him: it was very late. Rookwood knew that Riddle had been summoned to discuss matters with Dippet, or so he had said, but, surely, he should've been back by now…?

The iron door of the common room open, grating slightly on the stone floor and Rookwood jumped. He gulped as Riddle entered, tall and dangerously graceful, brushing back a lock of dark hair in a weary sort of fashion. Rookwood steeled himself and cleared his throat (_he could do this!_). Then Riddle's head snapped towards him like a snake facing down its prey and his resolve crumbled like dust in the wind.

"My Lord?" he squeaked.

Riddle took his usual seat, not even bothering to look at him. "What is it, Adarius?" he said indifferently, twirling his wand between his fingers.

"Ah-ah…" Rookwood struggled to compose himself. He cleared his throat. "I-It's about the…er…materials you required me to get." Here Riddle's head swiveled slowly in his direction to stare at him. "I-I couldn't—it's proving very difficult to…"

"Adarius…" Riddle said slowly. "What are you blathering on about?"

Rookwood blinked. "Er…"

"If this is about your failure to remove the Boggart, yes, I am displeased but it no longer matters. In fact, you may have done me a service…" A thoughtful expression crossed Riddle's usually impassive face. "Where is Mr Evans, do you suppose?"

Behind him, out of Riddle's sight, the silver-embroidered curtain rippled, as if touched by an invisible current.

"Evans?" Rookwood said stupidly. Riddle sighed.

"Never mind. Leave my sight." he said coldly, turning away.

Rookwood started. "But—"

"Unless you wish to accompany Avery to the Infirmary…?"

"No!" Rookwood said quickly. "No, my Lord…I'm sorry…" He edged towards the entrance to the boys' dormitory, hardly daring to believe his luck. "I'll just be going, then…"

Riddle didn't even acknowledge his pitiful exeunt and Rookwood fled.

* * *

"Good morning, Ariadne."

"Riddle." I whispered faintly. He took his usual seat next to me and we both sat in silence for a while as we listened to Slughorn talk about the potion we would be making today.

It had been three days since Olive Hornby's death. Dippet had passed it off as a freak accident ("That weedy-!" Harry had roared) and the student body, although more terror stricken than usual, was none the wiser. But that wasn't to say most didn't know instinctively that something else was going on; students these days tended to congregate in groups as they made their way to classes, and Dumbledore had now gained a dedicated following of frightened first years, whom he led diligently to all their subjects.

It was by Dippet's forceful insistence that the Hogsmeade trip was still on today. He appeared determined to act as if nothing was wrong, covering up the awkward questions kids asked him with forceful, pointed coughs. Many these days were now under the impression that he was suffering from a type of lung disease.

Slughorn finished his lecture and immediately beside me Riddle began to start work, setting up our cauldron with a practiced flick of his wand. Dutifully, I followed his actions and listened to the usual instructions he issued under his breath to me.

_He killed them._

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. This was my first Potions lesson since I discovered my Boggart and I was not ready to deal with this.

I was feeling awful. This morning I had woken up and was shocked to see myself in the mirror: I was, no joke, hideous. Dark circles had carved grooves underneath my eyes, my breath smelled terrible, and the hair on my legs was thick enough to ensnare a small army. Ron was averting his eyes whenever I approached him and Draco wasn't even being remotely subtle, offering to pop down to the Forbidden Forest to get me more of my makeup. And I had spent night after night poring over Dumbledore's book of Horcruxes…

"How are you today, Ariadne?" Riddle asked, his tone quiet and concerned.

"Just dandy," I muttered. Riddle paused to watch me and I ignored him. _Did he watch as he murdered my parents? Did he do it quickly? Or did he draw it out…_?

I scrubbed at my eyes viciously with my knuckles. I had to stop thinking like that, these circular, useless thoughts.

Riddle stopped shredding his Alacrere leaf to look at me. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," I muttered. "It's just… I was thinking of Olive Hornby."

Riddle kept his face impassive but I saw his knuckles whiten on the stem of the plant he was holding. "Yes. Miss Hornby's death was a tragic loss. 45 milligrams."

I glanced down at the measuring flask I was holding, tossed out the excess 20 mg inside out the nearest window and poured the rest into the simmering cauldron. Its contents changed from deep purple to an acid green. "There have been rumours about Hogwarts closing."

"Clockwise stir," Riddle corrected and I changed the direction of my arm. "Yes, I've heard them as well."

"Could they do that? " I said. "For some people, Hogwarts is like a second home. Could the Board just make them leave? With the war on?"

Riddle delicately extracted the knife out of my clumsy grip and began to correct the uneven and lopsided caterpillar pieces I had cut while only half paying attention. "Yes, they could." He expertly removed the bug's head and tossed it into the cauldron. "Wizarding war or no."

I watched him work, not bothering to do anything more. I had meant the Muggle war…I took a deep breath."And if the culprit was caught?"

"What do you mean?" Riddle's voice was sharp. "Ariadne, do you know who did this?"

"What? Of course not," I said, turning back to the tray of dragon liver in front of me. Much to my surprise, he caught my wrist in a tight, vice like grip underneath the table, forcing me to look at him. My eyes flew up to his face.

"Did you see anyone before you entered the Hall?" Riddle demanded.

"Time, time you two!" Slughorn's voice boomed suddenly. "The lesson's almost finished, so you better get a move on if you want to finish your potion on time!"

This made Voldemort snap to himself; he let go of my arm. I stared, flabbergasted at him—it was if he had flicked on a switch, the change was that visible. From dangerously focused to polite and hesitant once more.

"Of course sir," he said politely. He shifted more of the ingredients I was supposed to be doing something with onto his own tray and I sat back and let him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrogate you." His apologetic look could have made a cherub cry. "It's just that I would very much like to see whoever did this caught…"

"I heard you stopped the person who did it last time." I interrupted. Riddle's knife paused over his Erumpent tail and I thought I saw a glimmer of red streak through his eyes.

"Yes, I did." His tone was icy.

I met his gaze. "Guess you were wrong then, huh?"

He was silent then, throwing the last of the ingredients into our cauldron which sent a stream of brilliant orange sparks into the air. Riddle swiftly dipped a flask into the hissing solution, corked it and stood up to present "our" work to Slughorn at the front of the classroom. He received his due praise, and then returned to sit back down in silence beside me. I knew that now I had definitely crossed a line.

Though he and I had worked in almost complete silence before, this was different. It was as if the very air between us was injected with ice, with venom. Of course he showed no outward display of his anger…but it was no less obvious, or frightening. I chewed on my nails, on tenterhooks.

He spoke next at the same time a spike of pain drove viciously into my skull. "That was quite a show you put on in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Miss de Lioncourt," he said quietly.

"That wasn't for your entertainment, Riddle," I snapped and he smiled. It was disconcerting to witness his honey smile and yet also see the blank, bald faced cruelty in his dark eyes. It occurred to me, much later, that it was then that our pretense of 'friendship' had dropped completely, leaving only the barest and ugliest remnants behind.

"I wonder…" he said, still smiling broadly, "who on earth that could have been…."

Ice and then fire washed over me; fear and a hideous, burning rage. My wand found itself pointing at Riddle's face, shaking in my tightly closed fist. He didn't even bother taking out his own wand in answer to my openly hostile behavior; rather, he merely quirked a brow upwards, his smile growing.

"My dear Ariadne," he drawled, "I thought we were friends."

My hand twitched and he only stared back pleasantly.

"—oh, there's the bell, you all had better move off!"

Slughorn's cheerful boom cut through my red haze like a knife; slowly, I forced my arm down and my eyes away from his. Of course, they landed instead on the brightly glittering silver chain just peeking out underneath his collar and my wand gave a strange thrum in my pocket. Distracted, I looked down.

"It's a family heirloom."

My head snapped up. "What?"

Riddle offered a small smile and reached a hand into his uniform, pulling out Ravenclaw's locket. Its smooth silver surface caught the rays of the sun streaming in through the window and I watched, entranced, as the light played across the surface of the sapphires set into its cover. "I noticed you seem to be very interested in this."

"I'm not," I said too quickly; Riddle's smile widened, his eyes boring into my own.

And I felt that piercing intrusion in my mind, forceful and hungry and I knew I couldn't fight this off this time-

_Someone help me-_

"Hurry up, sis, or we'll be late for the Hogsmeade trip!" Draco called out from his position by the entrance of the dungeons. In a flood of awareness, my mind became once more my own and I stood up hastily, avoiding Riddle's eyes and sweeping all of my things into my bag. Without another word, I all but ran towards the exit, following Draco shakily.

" 'Sis'?" I muttered out of the corner of my mouth when we were far enough away from the classroom to feel safe about not being heard.

"Believe me, I'm just as surprised as you are," Draco responded dryly. "What were you doing with Riddle?"

"Nothing, nothing…" I pressed a clammy hand against my forehead, fumbled around in my bag and took a short drink from Madame Laroche's tonic.

Draco watched me for a moment. "He looked like he was about to eat you alive."

I didn't say anything to that and we finished our brisk walk in silence, meeting the other three at the top of the wide staircase that led outside the castle.

"About time," Ron grumbled as we reached them. "Slughorn finished the lesson _ages_ ago and I'm starving…"

"When are you not, Ronald?" Hermione said with an amused expression. "And we'll have to eat later, we still need to get our new books and robes, first…I think we'd better head to Gladrags—it's the only clothing shop I can remember reading about in _Hogwarts: A History_ that was around in 1944…"

"And Honeydukes?" Ron asked hopefully. Hermione chose not to deign that question with a reply.

* * *

Hogsmeade Village was in truth, not exactly as I had imagined it. It was smaller, more cramped, and less along the lines of "charming" and "quaint" than "dilapidated" and "dreary".

"I suppose they retouched it a bit during our time," Hermione said sadly.

"No kidding," I muttered, looking around at the busy, cobbled streets. A gust of freezing autumn wind swept past and I pulled my cloak closer around me. "Where to now?"

"Ron and Harry ought to go to Dervish & Banges to get their books," Hermione said bossily. "Draco—"

"I'm not going with them."

"—oh for goodness sake's," she hissed in exasperation. "Fine, go wherever. And Ari and I will have to go to Gladrags to get all of our school robes, day clothes, plus dress robes for the two of us—"

"What? Dress robes?" I said.

"Yes, for Slughorn's party Monday night," she replied arching a brow.

"Oh man, I completely forgot about that!" I groaned, clapping a hand to my cheek. "Wait, you don't think I'm actually going to go, d'you Hermione?"

"Of course you're going to go," she responded loftily. "I already told Professor Slughorn that we are. Oh for goodness _sake's_," she said again upon witnessing my expression, "they're _really_ not all that bad…"

"Ron and I'll meet all of you at the Three Broomsticks at quarter past, okay?" Harry said and we parted ways. I sighed.

Hermione and I made the short journey to Gladrags Wizardwear and entered the small but cozy looking shop, glad to be out of the chill. An elderly, plump witch at the counter smiled at us and Hermione returned it, approaching the desk.

"Excuse me, my friend and I need some new school robes…"

"Hogwarts?" The old woman said shrewdly and Hermione nodded. "I'll need to take your sizes, then…"

She disappeared underneath the counter for the moment and Hermione called out, "And we'd also like some boys' robes as well, ma'am…"

I wandered around the back of the clothes shop while they continued to bargain, absently looking at any item that caught my eye: a polka dotted blouse, long flowery skirts with matching silk gloves and finally, a dark yellow tulle dress. I was just about to take it off its hanger for further inspection when a blinding axe of pain cleaved my head into two. I fell on my knees with a bang, clutching at my head.

The pain was so intense that I could only leave my mouth open in a silent scream, and then, quite suddenly as it had come, it vanished. Awareness crashed upon me and panting, I looked around my nearby surroundings. There weren't exactly hordes of concerned people at my knee so I took a guess and figured no one had seen…whatever. Clumsily I got back to my feet and leaned against the clothing rack, trying to stop the swimming before my eyes. The yellow tulle dress was still in front of me; it occurred to me then that it was actually a sandy gold than yellow. Then it became spotted with red.

Eyes wide, I held a hand up to my nose and it came away stained with the same shade of scarlet. _What…_

"Ari, where are you?" Hermione's voice made me jump and I hastily tried to wipe off the rest of the blood on my face.

"H-here," I replied, using my wand to try and siphon off the rest. She finally reached me then with a quizzical expression on her face.

"What are you doing?" she said eyeing me curiously.

"Looking for dress robes," I said, waving one hand vaguely in the air around my while surreptitiously tucking my wand into the sleeve of my robes with the other "Could you help me?"

She nodded, and heart pounding, I shifted the gold dress carefully out of her sight, and mine. _Don't. Just don't._

Minutes passed, while we looked through the various assorted clothing in silence: hers thoughtful and mine distracted. As we sifted through the racks, I asked her something that had been bothering me ever since the night in Dumbledore's office.

"Do think we're changing the future?" I said abruptly. Hermione paused halfway through putting back the clothing items and glanced at me.

"To be honest, I _have _thought about that…" she said slowly, winding a lock of curly hair around one finger, "If Myrtle hadn't died, then she wouldn't be able to haunt the girls' bathroom…if she hadn't haunted it, Harry and Ron would never had managed to find the Chamber of Secrets and I would still be…" Hermione trailed off, lost in thought before she gave herself a little shake. "But…"

" 'But'…?"

"I have a theory," she said, biting her lip. "And I'm not sure how it would work, either, but…"

"Stop doing that."

"Sorry. Alright, you mentioned to me before that the core of your wand is a _strand of Time_. 'Strand' being the key word. Now, there's this theory about Time and Fate…rather ridiculous, really and actually scorned by modern day wizards, by someone called Daedalus. Have you heard of him before?"

I shook my head.

"He proposed that Fate and Time were…beings…no, _entities_. Entities that had been at war with each other for a very long time."

"What were they fighting over?"

"Control. Over people, over their lives. Through either the Strands of Time, or the Threads of Fate."

I snorted. "What, no Yarn of Fun?"

Hermione did not look amused and I stopped sniggering. "Daedalus said that the Threads of Fate entwined around the Strands of Time, so normally, they worked more or less in harmony. But, occasionally, Fate does something that diverges from the original Strand…"

My blood chilled. "Like going back in time?"

"Exactly," Hermione nodded. "Now, can you imagine what would happen to the Thread and Strand? They'd break apart. To be more specific, split into two. And I think that depending on which one of those we're currently following at the moment—Time or Fate—we may be in a sort of alternate reality, separate from our own."

"Okay…let me get this straight. When we time travelled to 1944, our strand, thread, yarn, whatever—broke apart, yeah? Because Time is linear and Fate isn't. So I guess you could say it was our fate to come back here, then." I scratched my chin, deep in thought. "If we're following Fate's Thread, then we're in another reality, separate from the original reality of Time…?"

"Sort of. There are three possible realities: one where we follow solely the Fate Thread, one with solely the Time Strand and the original where we follow both intertwined. Both begin in exactly the same way—that is, we are born, we grow up—up until when a specific event occurs that causes the realities to diverge."

I was beginning to get another headache, though more from Hermione's explanations than anything else. "Right. Brilliant. So we've created a new reality with a new future, _wonderful_…"

"Actually, no." Hermione looked very self-satisfied. "Equilibrium."

"Sorry?"

"Muggle science. Le Chatelier's principle…that if one change is made to system in equilibrium, the system will try to minimize the magnitude of the change. For example, in a chemical equation where reactants lead to products, by adding more of one reactant, you would be affecting the amount of products formed, and so on…"

It was like listening to someone speak total gibberish. "What?"

"So in this case, what if we're the figurative reactant added in this system? The system being our reality following the Fate strand?" Hermione continued. "Imagine 1944as one side of the equation, the reactants, and our future in 1997 as the other side, the products. Before we came along, it was balanced, perfect. Everything as it should be, where Myrtle dies and as a result, Harry and Ron find the Chamber of Secrets in our second year. But then when we arrived in 1944, we upset the balance and so the system would try to return to equilibrium while accommodating us. By changing the future."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "So, if we left, then…"

"The system would adjust to our absence and return to normal." Hermione confirmed.

"Meaning that…"

"Myrtle would die. Once we leave."

There was a short pause following her words.

"So there's no chance, then…" I murmured and Hermione shot me a questioning look. "No matter what we do, we can't change that Riddle will become Lord Voldemort."

Hermione said quietly, "Did you think…"

"No." I shrugged. "But I wondered."

Another silence fell, with Hermione absentmindedly fingering the fabric of the powder blue blouse in her hands. She glanced down. "Have you found dress robes yet?"

"I…" I glanced behind me. "Uh, yeah. This one," I pulled off the gold tulle dress from its hanger and showed it to her. Though initially I had thought to buy it simply because I had thought it would be rude to leave it bloodstained in the shop, I realized now that I rather liked it. The gently shimmering fabric coupled with its gold coloring reminded me of candlelight.

I made sure to present the right side to Hermione, the one without my blood.

* * *

"So what's up between you and Ron?"

Hermione fumbled with the glass jar of Peppermint Toads in her hands, nearly dropping it in the process. After we had bought our robes from Gladrags, we'd taken a short tour of the 1944 Hogsmeade, more for my benefit than anything else. Hermione was obviously already well acquainted with the place but she seemed alternately fascinated ("Oh _look,_ they used to have a bookstore right here!") and dismayed ("I suppose the owl post office was fairly recent, then…") by the differences from the Hogsmeade now to the Hogsmeade she remembered. Honeydukes, however, did not disappoint either of us.

Hermione regained her grip on the green tinted container, her face glowing red. "I—sorry, what?"

"I said, how much for one of those bon bons?" I pointed to the ominously shaking box on the shelf behind me.

Hermione looked relieved but still very pink. "Oh, er, there's the sign."

In the end, Hermione bought four bags, each containing a variety of sweets from Honeydukes including Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Sobbing Sugars ('So good—it'll make you cry!' the can had proclaimed) and the ever famous Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans for herself and the others, while I bought three jars of Cockroach Cluster for myself. I nibbled on them while we made the short trip to the Three Broomsticks, where we met Harry, Ron and Draco, all looking surprisingly wet despite the fact that there was a clear autumn sky above us.

"What happened to you?" I said bemused as I beheld their irritable and grumpy expressions.

"Nothing," Draco snapped. "Are we going to go inside or what?"

Mystified, I shrugged and followed His Royal Blondness into the smoky pub, glancing around with interest at its occupants. Behind me, I heard Hermione ask Harry, "What's that all about?" and receive a disgruntled grunt in reply.

There was a large counter ahead, covered with a variety of strange and rather poisonous looking drinks. A curvy woman with wavy blonde hair and a pretty face was wiping the top of the counter with a rather dazed expression on her face and I watched her curiously.

"That's Madame Rosmerta," said Harry sounding rather baffled himself. "The owner of the Three Broomsticks…blimey, she looks exactly the same…"

Hermione giggled at the expression on Ron's face and throughout our visit to the pub, I noticed that he seemed to avoid glancing in the barmaid's direction. That only made the others tease him more ("Guess Aunt Muriel has some competition now!") to his increasing annoyance.

When we finally left (after my fifth glass of butterbeer), I glanced back and noticed Madam Rosmerta hadn't moved at all from her earlier position, still polishing the same spot on the counter with her rather stained old rag and her vacant expression. I craned my neck to get one last shot before I collided heavily with someone, making me stumble into the doorframe and causing the other person to drop their things on the ground.

"Oh, I'm so sorry—here," I bent over to pick up their things. I didn't expect the resulting snarl from the other person and the hand that shoved me roughly away.

"I don't need your help, Mudblood," A Slytherin boy with curly brown hair hissed at me. I recoiled and stared at him for a moment. It was someone Harry had pointed out to me one Potions lesson—Rookwood. "What are you staring at?"

"Nothing…" Intimidated, I glanced down at the clear plastic-packaged item in my hand, one of the things he had dropped, and unbidden the name of its contents drifted to the surface of my mind. "Jerusalem root?" _Where have I seen that before?_

Rookwood paled so fast at my words it was as if someone had leeched the blood out of his body and snatched the bag away from me. He pulled out his wand and pointed it threateningly at my face. "Mind your—mind your own damn business! You filthy little-"

"Problem?" I started at the sound of Harry's voice next to me. His wand was also out and pointing at the Slytherin.

Rookwood's eyes darted over Harry's shoulder and I followed his glance; the other three were watching as well. Five against one was not what I would have deemed to be a smart move; clearly, Rookwood thought so too and with one last venomous glare in my direction, he turned on his heel and left. Harry watched him leave with a furrowed brow and a hard set of his mouth that put me on edge.

"Thanks," I said. "But don't pop a vein over it, alright?"

Green eyes darted to meet my own. "He's one of Riddle's followers," he said viciously. "I bet he was just _dying_ for a chance to practice his Cruciatus curse on someone…"

"I don't think so," I said thoughtfully. "Actually, he looked …" _Scared_, I thought, "in a rush."

"_Harry!_"

Our heads snapped towards the direction of the person who had screamed; it was Hermione's voice and yet we couldn't see her through the sudden swell of the crowd in the streets of Hogsmeade. Immediately, Harry's wand was out again as he scanned the crowd. Feeling though as if something was gripping my stomach in a tight fist, I followed Harry into the mess, pushing aside the other Hogwarts students.

"Excuse me, excuse me, sorry—" I thumped one particularly bulky student wearing the black and yellow of Hufflepuff house on his back, "Dammit, _do you mind_?"

Suddenly, there was a resounding _crack!_ that echoed throughout the area; it sounded like a round of fireworks had been let off right next to my ear. Then there was a bang like a gunshot—the Hufflepuff boy finally moved then, only I didn't expect it to be a collapse as a bright, vivid green light hit its target.

_What…_

Time stood still. Someone screamed and that was what made me snap back to reality, ripping my eyes away from the now-corpse at my feet.

It was the scene from the Great Hall the night of Olive Hornby's death all over again, except much, much worse.

"Get down!" Harry yelled and we both ducked just as jets of violet light shot into the crowd. I looked around wildly for the source and saw wizards clad in robes of gold and black advancing from all sides. Their faces were covered with gold half moon masks.

_The fireworks_, I thought incoherently, _That's what the fireworks were, they were Apparating all around us…_

"Move!" Harry ordered and I quickly complied, following him through the screaming villagers. It was like our situation was reversed; this time, it was him who was leading me.

"Harry, those men—"

"There's a secret passageway in the cellar of Honeydukes, Ari, I want to follow it back to Hogwarts and get help, do you understand? I need to find the others—_stupefy_!" One of the black and gold men who had lunged at us was blasted backwards by Harry's Stunning spell. "Ari, run!"

Throwing him one last glance, I ran towards the direction of the sweet shop, stopping and starting like a clockwork toy. Flying curses singed my hair and my clothing, but none of them were direct hits, none that I could tell anyway. By the time I'd rounded my fifth corner, my whole body was shaking from adrenaline and fear.

Someone shouted a warning somewhere from my left and I stopped in my tracks, just missing the fireball that passed through the exact spot where my head would have been if I had waited for another split second. I plunged my hand into my robes and pulled out my wand, spinning in ridiculous, paranoid circles.

There was a _crack!_ and suddenly one of the figures was in front of me, his mouth already forming the words that would mean my death.

"Oh Lord love a—"I leapt forward, tackling him to the ground. We hit the grimy brick floor painfully; his elbow crashed into my stomach leaving me gasping for air and seeing stars. But his wand skittered out of his grasp and while he scrambled to retrieve it I Stunned him, rendering him unconscious in the middle of the alley.

"Flipping—son of a—jeez, what the…God," I mumbled as I stood up on jelly legs. "Ridiculous…gotta go…"

I wobbled my way out of the alley and it occurred to me then that I didn't recognize any of my surroundings. I was on the edge of a sort of forest and the shouts and yells of the people in the Hogsmeade village were fainter here. I swore in my head as I looked around. _There is no way in hell I am going down that rape-alley again…_

"_Où est Grindelwald ? Qu'est-ce qu'il fait?_" I whirled around and saw two of the gold masked men standing extremely close to where I was. I froze, not daring to make a sound.

"_Il est dans le village, peux-tu attendre pour cinq minutes?_ _Tais-toi maintenant, ou les autres vont nous écouter_." One of the men had his mask off and spoke harshly to the other man in rapid French. As quietly as I could, I moved behind the trunk of one of the pines at the edge of the forest, my heart pounding violently in my chest.

Now that I was better hidden, I had the confidence to peer at the two from behind a falling swath of branches. The first speaker had mentioned a familiar name: Grindelwald. It was only when I looked at their gold and black robes for the first time that I noticed it: a strange insignia inscribed on their lapels. A triangle, a circle and a single, straight line that cut through the overlapping shapes.

Some noise of recognition or surprise must have escaped me then; the heads of the two soldiers simultaneously snapped towards the direction of my hiding place. I clapped a hand over my mouth and began to back away slowly into the woods.

_Snap._ My breath caught in my chest as I stepped on a dry twig. The men converged and I turned on my heel and fled into the forest.

Hide-and-seek had always been a game I was good at. But somehow, things always seemed more difficult when there was true danger involved.

Their heavy footsteps were becoming louder, practically booming in the forest. Realizing that it would be useless to continue further into the forest I began to climb one of the smaller trees nearby. I was rusty; the palms of my hands and the skin of my knees earned several scrapes on the tough bark as I hauled myself up. I found a crook between the trunk of the tree and a branch jutting out at a ninety degree angle and hovered there, waiting.

The two men were nearly at my tree now, from what I could see of the tops of their heads. I held my breath and prayed they wouldn't notice me.

Closer, closer...they had reached my hiding place now...closer...they were directly under it...they continued on...they hadn't noticed anything.

I waited for a good quarter of an hour longer, frozen with fear against the tree, before I mustered the courage to move, to breathe again. As quietly as I could, I shimmied down the trunk of the tree and fumbled for the Marauders' Map I carried around on the inside of my robes. With shaky hands, I unfolded it, frantically searching for the tiny ink blot labelled 'Ariadne de Lioncourt'.

I finally located my tiny doppelganger in the Hogsmeade Forest, too far east off the path back to the castle. There would be no point in going back to Honeydukes; it was swarming with Grindelwald's men.

I swore loudly and made to close the grubby parchment when—

_Tom Riddle Jr._

He was close, very close, just a little way from the edge of the Forest where I hid. But that wasn't what made my hands stop, or my eyebrows pull sharply upwards.

Because according to the Map, _Tom Riddle Jr._ was also currently in the Hogwarts library.

"_Ben, qu'est-ce que nous avons ici?_ "

My wand was out before my hand even knew what it was doing and a streak of red light shot towards the larger of the two men I had been running from. He blocked it easily and responded with a violet curse of his own. The light hit me square in the chest and I flew backwards, slamming painfully against the thick trunk of a tree. There was laughter from the man then, loud and boisterous, while I sat wheezing from the blow with little birdies tweepling in front of my eyes. If I had any breath though, then I maybe I would have joined him; in all his arrogance, the man had forgotten to disarm me.

"_Furunculus_!" I croaked and in an instant the laughter turned into screams of pain as a bright orange rash began to spread rapidly across his face. 'Furunculus' was supposed to make your opponent break out in boils, but I wasn't about to complain with the results.

Fighting to get air into my lungs, I staggered to my feet; almost immediately I was struck by a blinding pain in my head, making me stumble and collapse back to my knees with a howl. _Not again...!_

Eyes watering with pain, I looked up at the man, who had managed to get rid of his rash and was now staring at me with nothing but sheer murder in his eyes. His raised his wand and I knew what was going to happen next—

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

I heard the rush of impending death before I saw the explosion of green light and in some part of me I was aware that it didn't make sense—_wasn't light faster than sound?_—but then, as I saw the blond man topple to the ground, lifeless and wide eyed at my feet, I realised that it didn't matter. I stared at the body, unable to comprehend, to think.

"Wha...wha..."

There was a soft crunching sound of dead leaves underfoot as someone else approached. Then the person stood over the body of the man, tall and dressed almost inappropriately in a pristine dark suit and tie. He stared at the now-corpse with a sneer of contempt, one hand twirling his wand lazily in his hand. I must have made some noise then, because his head snapped upwards to look at me and for a moment, confusion dominated over disgust in his expression.

"Ari," Tom Riddle said, and he did appear honestly surprised. Then he shook his head slowly and stowed his wand back into his suit. "And here I was, thinking you knew better."

My only response was to gape at him. He watched me shrewdly, dark eyes searching my face. "You're hurt."

Dimly I became aware of a throbbing around my left cheekbone and I reached a hand upwards numbly. Riddle stepped forward and I scuttled back. This made him pause.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said quietly. I wanted to snort, but I couldn't find the muscles that allowed me to do so.

Riddle moved closer, stepping over the body of the Grindelwald soldier as if it were nothing but another moss covered log in the Forest until he stood directly in front of me and I was face to face with his knees. He crouched down so that his head was almost in level with my own and I flinched. Riddle ignored this and brought up a hand so that his thumb was resting underneath my chin, forcing my face upwards. His skin was very cold.

I held my breath for the entire time (_minutes? hours?_) he scanned my face, fearing that if I made any movement...

"It's only a shallow cut. I think you'll live." He smiled and this chilled me more than his gentleness. He drew out his wand and pointed it at me.

I recoiled so hard my teeth rattled, cursing myself to Hell and back for even _thinking_ that Riddle wouldn't take advantage of this situation to attack—but he only raised an eyebrow at my reaction, flicking his wand. I had been expecting pain and so was utterly surprised when I felt the oddly ticklish sensation of my skin knitting back together instead. Wonderingly, I patted my cheek and confirmed that I was, in fact, healed.

_By Riddle?_

The Heir of Slytherin's mouth curled into what could only be described as a smirk. "Do you think you can make it back to the castle or will I have to carry you?"

All the blood rose to my face like a slap and I found my voice again. 'No!" I flushed when Riddle's expression turned positively wicked. "I can manage."

I stood up, ignoring the hand that he held out towards me, instead relying on the tree trunk behind me to support my weight. When I was finally in a position that could've passed for upright, I saw that Riddle was still studying me with a speculative expression. I remembered the circles under my eyes, the protruding bones under my skin, and, _dear God_, the hair on my legs and immediately felt self conscious. Especially when Riddle, despite have frolicked around in the woods almost as much as I have, had barely a hair out of place.

"What?" I said defensively.

"How have you been feeling lately?" he said abruptly. I stared at him, wondering how he could possibly expect a reply to such a ridiculous question. As if he had read my mind, he sighed.

"I'm afraid I can't stay for much longer, Ari," he said politely. The tone of his voice wouldn't have been out of place at a quiet afternoon luncheon, but his stormy grey eyes betrayed him. They were alive, alert.

He reached into the pocket of his robes and brought out a small crystal vial of a sinisterly bubbling black liquid. "Take this."

When I didn't immediately accept the candy from the nice stranger in the white van, he forced it into my hand and closed his abnormally long fingers over my own. "Take this," he repeated, and it was an order.

After a beat, I nodded and he sighed again, stepping away.

"Where are you going?" The question left my mouth, childish and unchecked. The blood rose to my face again when Riddle turned around to face me, one eyebrow arched. His lips curved into a smirk. "Don't worry; I'll see you in a moment."

Suddenly his gaze shifted to something over my shoulder and he tensed. "Watch yourself—"

I whirled around, my alder wand in hand but saw nothing. "What are yo-?" I began, turning back to face him and stopped when I saw nothing but thin air. It was as if Riddle had vanished, leaving nothing behind but a few scattered leaves and a dead man to mark his absence.

As if someone had flicked on a switch, sound bled back into the background. I heard shouts, but not of terror. It sounded like someone was giving orders. There were fewer flashes of colored lights.

"Good enough for me," I muttered and, still clutching the crystal vial, I began to sprint back to the Hogwarts castle.

**A/N: Hey so what did you think? We're really getting into the plot now…**

**Translation of French (spoken by Grindelwald's soldiers):**

**Soldier #1: Where is Grindelwald? What is he doing?**

**Soldier #2: He's in the village, can you wait for five minutes? Now shut up, or the others are going to hear us.**

**Then in the forest:**

**Soldier #2: Well, what do we have here?**

**I always thought the majority of Grindelwald's soldiers would probably be European, considering where he was taught and whatnot. However, they don't all have to come from the same parts of Europe…**

**Tell me what you think's going on in this chapter! Part 2 should be out (relatively) soon, because I have my school vacation next week, which is great.**

**Oh, and there's a ton of Draco the next chapter, for all you ferret fans. :D**

**Thank you!**


	12. Weary Body

**Disclaimer:**Nuh-uh.

**A/N:**Here we are! Enjoy this chapter and thank you for the reviews!

It's so weird, writing in first person again…I've been writing a lot of third, lately…

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 11: Weary Body**

"_Good enough for me," I muttered, and, still clutching the crystal vial, I sprinted towards the Hogwarts castle._

My footfalls were uneven when they finally found purchase on marble instead of stone. I had to find the others—were they alright? Or had they ended up like that Hufflepuff boy?

I was attracting some attention from the other students with my dishevelled appearance; clearly, most were still unaware about the attack on Hogsmeade. Whispers echoed around the corridors as I ran past them.

_Dumbledore...I need to find Dumbledore..._

I spotted a familiar looking head of dark hair in the corridor ahead and elated, I called out to him.

"Harry—"

Then the boy with the dark hair turned around and I stopped dead in my tracks.

"_We even look something alike..."_

"_Riddle_?" I said incredulously.

Said person inclined his head stiffly, obviously not at all pleased to be singled out among his peers to answer to the perceived madwoman. "Miss de Lioncourt."

"What the—how did you..?" And then it clicked: the final piece of the puzzle fitting snugly into place to form a fully formed picture. Why Harry had felt Riddle's rage on the eve of Olive Hornby's death when Hermione had said he had looked 'smug'...why Riddle had been so adamant in knowing who I had seen outside the Great Hall...why there had been two, not one, Riddles on the Marauders' Map, the map that never lied...

He'd been using the First Locket to go back in time.

"Holy cow," I muttered horrified, moving backwards. But now Riddle had noticed something wrong and was slowly mirroring my steps, but in the opposite direction. The red was in his eyes again.

"Ari—!" I spun around and caught sight of the familiar thin face of Harry Potter; immediately I grabbed his sleeve and began to drag him away from the corridor.

When we were a quieter place, I told him what I had seen in the Forest, and the revelation of Riddle's use for the Locket. Harry's face became grave as he listened; he told me that Dumbledore himself had stopped Grindelwald in Hogsmeade in a show of magic that stunned all who watched it.

"Did he kill him?" I whispered and he shook his head.

"No, he Disapparated along with the rest of his men." Harry's mouth twisted in a frown. "Listen, Ari—about Riddle..."

"Which one?" I said.

His face was grim. "That's exactly it. You have to remember that _both_ of them are evil, Ari. Whether they're from the past, present or future doesn't matter- you can't let your guard down around them."

We both were silent then, each lost in our own thoughts. Finally Harry spoke again.

"It's strange, though," he said slowly. "Lately, I've been getting the feeling that...they—the Present and Future Riddle—haven't been getting along."

"What makes you say that?"

"I finally figured out why Riddle was so mad at Avery," he said in an undertone. "He was supposed to watch the Chamber's entrance—though he didn't tell him why—but he fell asleep. Avery swears it wasn't his fault, that someone knocked him out but he couldn't remember his face. I think that it must have been someone he'd have known in order for them to get that close to him. And I know for sure that it wasn't Present Riddle who let out the Basilisk..."

I suddenly felt very cold. "You think that it was Future Riddle who opened it."

Harry nodded. "Exactly. But why he would do something so against his earlier goals...it's beyond me. It doesn't make sense. But one thing's for sure, Ari—it's not something good."

* * *

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

_I stared up the man who had his wand pointed directly at my face and watched as his mouth shaped the words that would mean my death—_

_A burst of green light. And then all was red._

"_Dammit, do you mind?" I pushed at the wall of yellow and black angrily and—_

_A burst of green light. And then all was red._

"Aria, get the door please, honey, mum's a bit busy—"

"_Hello." I looked up at the man in the doorway. He was dressed oddly, especially for the warm season. "Who are you?"_

_A burst of green light. And then all was red._

I woke up in the dark, sweat streaming down the back of my neck. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up in bed. I glanced at my watch; it was very late. That had been my third attempt to fall asleep tonight. It seemed every time I closed my eyes that was all I saw: the same vivid flash of green, the bodies falling through the air. Olive Hornby, the Hufflepuff boy, the Grindelwald soldier. How many people had I seen die ever since I arrived here?

I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose with a hand. Eyes snapping open, I left the bed and shoved my feet into my school shoes without undoing the laces. I stole a red velvet dressing gown that I'd always admired from the cabinet of one of my dorm-mates and put it on. I grabbed the Map on the way out of the room.

I needed to take a walk; a habit that I normally enforced when I was stressed, or couldn't think. It was dark outside, so I lingered near the stone pillars that allowed moonlight to shine through. I stopped for a moment to look outside, at the cold grey waters of the Hogwarts Lake and at the gamekeeper's cabin by the edge of the Forest.

Shivering at the sudden blast of icy wind, I turned away and began walking again, my footfalls making soft thuds on the stone floor. There wasn't really a specific destination in my head but somehow I found myself taking a path that was relatively rare to me: it led to the Hogwarts Library. I had never been fond of books.

As I continued along the corridor, I heard a noise; I had to strain my ears to catch it. It sounded like...

"...why, of course! I was quite the duellist in my day...never a single match lost! Well...er...except to old Bathilda the Manly, but no one really counts her..."

Temporarily immobilized with shock at the realization I wasn't alone, I scanned the corridor ahead for the source of the voice. It sounded...familiar...

"...as I recall, we've learned about you in a History of Magic..."

And the voice of the second speaker, I would recognize an inch away from death.

_Riddle? Why is it always you I run into on my 'adventures'?_

"...oh? Excellent, about my noble deeds and bearing I hope...?"

"Of course."

What was he doing? Clearly, kissing ass... but he never did so without a purpose, right? And why at this hour?

"Oh you flatter me, boy...by the way, did I ever tell you of my conquests of the French in 1481...?"

I was torn, between my infuriating curiosity and my immense desire to flee. Eventually, and like always, it was the most inconvenient vice that won out in the end.

As quietly as I could, I tiptoed to the double-door entrance of the Hogwarts Library, were a tiny sliver of yellow light bled into the grey of the stone floor. I crouched down by the wall near its entrance and listened.

Riddle was speaking. "…and I was wondering, perhaps…"

"Ah well, the Gaunt family line is extensive," Sir Constantine replied and I realized that Riddle had been questioning him about his family. Foreboding gripped me like a vice. "Direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin, all of us and very proud, yes, very proud..."

"Do you know anything of its descendants?"

"Oh, yes I have heard quite a bit about them—though mostly from other ghosts, as I have never met them myself," replied Sir Constantine amiably. " I never really cared to know of what became of our bloodline, especially after hearing the rumours..."

"Rumours?"

"Yes, the late Gaunts caused quite a scandal a few years back. Marvolo Gaunt, I believe his name was, and his son, Morfin, and daughter, Merope. The son was sent to Azkaban for attacking Muggles in the village where they lived." I heard the ghost sniff in disdain. "Personally, I've never cared for that myself. Muggles are a waste of time and energy."

Riddle said quietly, "And the daughter?"

"Ran off with some Muggle, or so I've heard." Another sniff. "A waste of good blood."

I could sense the suppressed excitement in Riddle's voice when he next spoke. "Do you know his name?"

"Boy, were you not listening to me?" The ghost sounded affronted. "Muggles—"

"Yes, of course, I do apologize," said Riddle quickly. He began to say something else but I had decided that I had heard enough, that I was lucky to even listen to all of that without being caught. Carefully, I stepped back, away from the library entrance.

_Creak._

The weight of my foot drew from the floorboards a long, rusty groan. I froze midstep at the sound. In the Library, the voices fell silent.

"Ah, it must be the caretaker—an ill tempered young man if you ask me, I'd better—" said Sir Constantine.

"It's quite alright," I heard Riddle's voice say softly. "I'll take care of it. I should be heading to bed anyway."

Sir Constantine chuckled an appreciative reply and Riddle stepped out of the Library, closing the twin doors shut behind him. The beam of lanternlight vanished and the hallway became shrouded in darkness, countered only by the silvery glow of the full moon outside. He stood quite still then, his hands clasped behind his back as he pondered something while, feet away, I waited with bated breath.

I took one, cautious step backwards.

"Miss de Lioncourt." He didn't even turn to look at me.

"R-Riddle." I replied.

He tilted his head in my direction then. "I'm surprised you're still awake. It's very...dangerous to wander around the castle after hours. You could get hurt."

"_I'm not going to hurt you."_

Unbidden, the words from the Riddle I had met in the Hogsmeade Forest flashed through my head and a small, fearful chuckle left my lips. Irony was never my taste.

"What did you hear, Ariadne?" Riddle said softly and my breath stuttered in my chest, echoing in the sonorous stone hallway. The silence stretched on.

"_What did you hear, Ariadne?_" I jumped, swallowing thickly.

"You're the Heir of Slytherin." I whispered.

Riddle turned to look at me so quickly my eyes missed the movement; I blinked and his back was towards me once more.

"Are you surprised, Ariadne?" he said softly. "I thought I would be, at first. After all, my mother...she died, you see. Giving birth to me, or so they said. And my father, a _Muggle_. But now..."

He turned around then and I finally saw what lurked just behind his tranquil façade...something rough and crude, and bestial.

"_I am Slytherin's Heir_."

* * *

It was dark outside, so I lingered near the stone pillars that allowed moonlight to shine through. I stopped for a moment to look outside, at the cold grey waters of the Hogwarts Lake and at the gamekeeper's cabin by the edge of the Forest.

Shivering at the sudden blast of icy wind, I turned away and began walking again, my footfalls making soft thuds on the stone floor. There wasn't really a specific destination in my head but somehow I found myself taking a path that was relatively rare to me: it led to the Hogwarts Library. I had never been fond of books—

"Ariadne, it's very late."

My yell of surprise echoed around the deserted corridor and I quickly clapped my hands over my mouth, darting my eyes about the place. A few of the figures in the paintings adorning the walls stirred, but didn't wake.

"Riddle!" I half screamed, half whispered, my hand still covering my mouth. "What're you-!"

"I'm afraid I'll have to take points from Gryffindor for this," Riddle interjected smoothly, his dark eyes glinting. He looked very calm. "You should know better by now that wandering the corridors at this sort of hour is against the rules."

The reprimand caught me off guard. Though I had never been on the receiving end of his authority during my short time at Hogwarts, I had seen him use it on others and often wondered how they could feel so shame-faced for their actions, by his mere reproach. Now that I was the one being chastised I could understand that perfectly well. I felt like a child, being scolded for staying up past my bedtime.

"I...I needed to think," I said in a small voice.

Riddle stared at me for a moment, his head tilted slightly to one side. "I'll escort you to the Gryffindor Tower." Her turned around and began to walk away.

"H-Hey!" He turned back again, one eyebrow raised and I fought to stand my ground. "You know, I'm not the only one out past their bedtime. What are _you_ doing?"

"What else but investigating the source of the clamour?" he said dryly, twirling his wand in one hand. "If you truly wish to wander about after hours, then perhaps—"

"You're lying." I said and my body felt cold. But my pocket...it was scorching. Burning. I slipped my hand inside and felt for the thrumming wood of my wand—

..._"You could get hurt—"_

_...I finally saw what lurked just behind his tranquil façade...something rough and crude, and bestial—_

...**"**_**I am Slytherin's Heir."**_

And the next thing I knew, I was screaming at him.

"What the hell are you playing at, Riddle?" I yelled furiously, brandishing my wand at my side. Several paintings snapped awake but I found that I didn't care anymore. "You can't just _do_ that to people—" I stopped, panting. Realization flooded me. I'd told him that I knew about the Locket...And he was watching me again, with that dangerous scarlet gleam. "Ah damn it _all_—_averte statura!_"

Lightning fast, he had his own wand spinning in his hand, deflecting my jinx with a Shield Charm. My own spell glanced off it and zoomed towards me; I ducked, and it singed the hair on the top of my head. Eyes watering at the sudden stench of burning hair, I blinked and was suddenly met by a volley of purple lights headed my way.

_Ha, bastard, Dumbledore already pulled this one on me!_ I hit the floor and rolled to the side; finding my feet I shot another curse at him which he blocked before the spell barely left my lips.

Striding forward with an unreadable expression Riddle waved his wand and then there was an explosion of smoke in front of me, surrounding me like a thick fog. I turned this way and that, but I couldn't see inches past my face.

And then, suddenly, striking out of the grey was the head of a great snake made out of smoke; it lunged at me and I yelled, throwing an arm over my face as I stumbled backwards. But the snake passed through me as harmlessly as—well, _smoke_. A jet of red light pierced the grey fog and hit me and I found I couldn't move, my limbs fixed in their positions like a statue.

I watched as Riddle calmly waved away the smoke and walked towards me. His grey eyes examined me like someone eyeing a piece of particularly incomprehensible work of art. "This is a strange dilemma we're in, Miss de Lioncourt," he said quietly. "You see, not many people are aware of the power of the locket of Ravenclaw—ah yes, so you do know. I can see it in your eyes. I thought perhaps you simply recognized the insignia on its cover, at first...no matter, no matter..."

He stood directly in front of me now, with only inches separating us. He had a thoughtful expression on his face, his head still tilted to one side. His eyes were bright red. "Perhaps then, you can tell me about the power of its twin? No?"

Riddle gave me an assessing look and flicked his wand; my knees buckled and I doubled over, coughing.

"The famed twin Lockets of the two greatest Hogwarts founders...legend says that both were destroyed by Godric Gryffindor himself. But you and I know the truth, isn't that so Ariadne?" Abruptly his voice moved from a silky murmur to an uncharacteristically sharp growl. "Get up."

But I continued to cough on the ground, unable to catch my breath. Air burst out of me in short, ragged gasps and yet it was like I wasn't doing anything at all—no oxygen reached my starved lungs.

"Get up, Ariadne."

My labored pants transformed into something else; something wet and viscous was slowly clawing its way up my throat. For a moment I tasted its bitter, acrid stench on my tongue and then it was out of me, splattering in great dollops on the floor. My watering eyes widened; it wasn't red, but black.

"What are you...?" Riddle said, bending down and I spat a large gob of tar-like substance into his face. He stumbled, something I had never seen him do before, and I used his distraction to snatch my wand where it lay on the floor and fire a Jelly Legs Jinx at him. I didn't look to see whether it hit him or not; I simply ran as fast as I could to the Gryffindor tower.

* * *

"What is it?"

I looked up from my plate. It was an early breakfast in the Great Hall; the post hadn't even arrived yet. "Sorry?"

Draco eyed me speculatively. "There is no food in your mouth. Honestly, I like you better this way...but I'd also like to know what caused this _drastic_ change in character."

I toyed with the silver tines of the fork in my hand edgily. How could I explain that the mere sight of the cheery sunny side up eggs on my plate made my stomach turn and my skin break out into cold sweat? That I feared that if I did eat, it would only come back up in the same, tar-like substance as last night?

"Menstrual cramps."

Draco snorted into his goblet of pumpkin juice and emerged sopping wet and flushing a brilliant shade of pink. I stood up.

"Look, I'll meet you in class, alright?" I left him without waiting for a reply towards the greenhouses. On the way, a wave of nausea hit me; quickly, I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep anything from making a reappearance and hid behind a nearby stone pillar. With fumbling hands, I took Madame Laroche's tonic and held it to my lips. Seconds later, I stared at it in disbelief; I had finished it all. In a fit of anger, I threw it down on the ground where it smashed into tiny shards on impact.

"Bit of a temper you've got there, hm?"

I looked around and saw a boy dressed in the traditional green and silver of Slytherin House watching me. He looked rather familiar.

"Yeah," I muttered, pushing my way past him and broke into a run as I realized I was late for Herbology.

I was grateful Professor Radvire had decided to let us work in Greenhouse Seven for today's lesson; it was the one with the biggest windows, which he liked to open during class. The cold morning breeze felt good against the back of my neck as I worked with Draco on pruning our fanged geranium bush. Though normally I tried to make up for my inexperience with magic by doing most of the practical work that Draco wouldn't touch (mainly involving dragon dung) today I let him take over, unable to concentrate on the task at hand for more than a few minutes.

A cold knot of dread was forming in my chest, one that I knew had been present ever since that day at Gladrags, but that I chose to ignore.

_What was happening to me?_

Headaches, nausea. Vomiting black blood...what else? Loss of appetite. None of the symptoms I had matched up to any sort of disease I could think of...granted, those were few. And all Muggle, of course.

Class ended and silently I began to help Draco put away our herbology things, washed my hands and left. Draco caught up to me before I could get too far.

"What?" I snapped at him.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" he demanded, folding his arms across his chest. I didn't meet his eyes, which were sparking with annoyance and irritation. "Who shoved their wand up your—"

"Piss off."

Draco took a deep breath, obviously trying to overcome his irritation. "Look, de Lioncourt, you're supposed to at least act _somewhat_ civil to your own damn brother, for crying out—"

"Draco, I'm only asking for a few minutes alone. I'll see you around." I broke into a jog as I rounded a corner and then slammed open the door to one of the bathrooms. Almost tripping in my haste, I lunged for the edge of one of the sinks and began to heave violently into the basin.

When I was done, I shakily wiped my mouth and washed my hands. I watched the black tar swirl down into the drain and a fear of the magnitude I had never experienced before overcame me; my knees gave and hit the floor.

_Oh God._

* * *

"My Lord."

Riddle looked up from his book to see Rookwood standing before him, his face flushed with excitement. The two boys were in the common room during one of the free periods before their next class He raised a brow coolly, eyeing him much in the way a snake would eye a cricket; with the mild disgust and condescension of an unworthy meal.. "Yes?"

Rookwood stepped closer, his face shining. "I just wondered...whether you found the ingredients I procured for you suitable, My Lord."

Riddle stared at him. "Ingredients...?"

The curly haired boy blinked, faltering slightly. "The... ingredients you asked me to get, My Lord. I have to admit, they were quite tricky to attain at first, especially when Mulciber-" he stopped and started again. "I did as you asked. Grindelwald's attack only made it easier to sneak it into the castle."

Riddle continued to watch him, as still as a marble statue. Rookwood's smile faded from his face and he grew uneasy as his leader remained silent. "M-My Lord?"

"These ingredients..." Riddle said slowly, his face expressionless, "...who did you give them to?"

Rookwood swallowed nervously. "I gave them...to _you_, My Lord," he said uncertainly. Was this a test?

"I see." Riddle stood up from his armchair and began walk in slow, deliberate steps around the other boy like a predator circling its prey. "Refresh my memory, Rookwood: what sort of ingredients did I ask you to procure?"

Rookwood licked his lips nervously. "Bulbadox juice...powdered aconite...Jerusalem berries—"

"_Crucio._"

As the boy began to shriek and flail on the Slytherin common room floor before him, the haze of red that had momentarily clouded Riddle's vision abated slightly. Still, he was none the less furious—it was _him_. His ridiculous döppelganger who insisted on contradicting and opposing him at every turn—which was absurd, because they were the same person, after all. Were they not supposed to _aid_ each other instead of this ludicrousness?

Riddle grit his teeth and flicked his wand. Rookwood's screams grew louder and Riddle lazily muffled the common room entrance with another flick.

It was becoming frustrating. Initially, Riddle had been overjoyed when he had discovered the extent of the First Locket's powers...but this was an outcome he had not anticipated. And it was giving him a headache.

What did he even need these ingredients for? Riddle wondered furiously. He couldn't see any reason why he should want them in the near future. The potion was not familiar to him.

Riddle raised the intensity of the curse and Rookwood did a sort of flop on the floor. His scream had become soundless, his mouth stretched wide in a mute shriek.

Riddle attempted to calm himself by thinking of his horcruxes. It had taken him months of dedicated research, of persuading to find something even remotely related to the topic. Even longer still to find evidence of the ritual needed to complete it. At this rate, he would probably create his first horcrux by the end of next year. It was a very long time to wait, but it would be worth it.

He was the Heir of Slytherin, after all.

Riddle removed the curse with a twitch of his hand and Rookwood crumpled in on himself, sobbing on the floor.

"That was just a brief reminder, Rookwood," Riddle said coldly. "Do not underestimate Lord Voldemort's power."

* * *

"_Symptoms of scrofungulus include green-violet swellings upon the skin...puffy protrusions above the eyes..."_

I slammed the book shut and put my head in my hands. This was pointless. Nothing in these books contained anything, anything at all about spewing black blood, or anything else I was doing. Half of me hoped I wouldn't come across the information; there was still a chance it could be some sort of hideously advanced form of Wizarding food poisoning.

The librarian, a beady eyed woman with a thin mouth eyed me suspiciously as I slumped over the table, groaning into my hands. There had to be something, _somewhere_...

"Hello." I looked up to see the familiar-looking Slytherin boy standing in front of me. "It's you again."

"Yeah? Who are you?"

The boy blinked; his smirk fading before it returned, full force. "Ah, I'm offended...you don't remember me?"

I stared at him for a moment, considering. "You're the one who warned me in the alley. About the Grindelwald soldier."

The boy winked. "That's right. Excellent timing too, if I do say so myself."

"Huh." I couldn't think of what to say. "Well, thank you."

"It's always my pleasure to help a damsel in distress." He sat down across from me and I felt a stab of irritation. "I'm Alphard."

"Alphard?" I said, surprised. "Alphard Black?"

Alphard beamed. "So you've heard of me! Perhaps for my dashing looks and rapier wit, hm?"

"Er...sure." In truth, I had only recognized his name from Harry's recount of his first meeting with the Death Eaters. "I'm Ari."

An expression of surprised crossed his handsome face and I asked him what was wrong. He considered me for a moment. "You're very straightforward, aren't you?"

I frowned. "How so?"

"Well, most young women wouldn't ask a person they just met to call them by their first name, you see. Or, upon consideration...get into schoolyard brawls with fully grown men in dark alleys." He grinned at me.

I gave him a tight-lipped smile and looked back down at the numerous textbooks that lay in front of me. Alphard seemed friendly enough, and was probably one of the nicest people I'd met so far at Hogwarts but I didn't have time for this.

He followed the direction of my gaze and picked up the book closest to him, examining it with an expression of great interest. "_'How to Know Whether You Have A Flesh Eating Disease and What To Do if You Have One'_," he read out loud. "Interesting choice."

I snatched the book from him. "Listen, I'm grateful for your warning in the alley that day, but I'd really appreciate it if you'd leave me alone. Please."

Alphard's smile faded and then his gaze turned speculative. "Of course." He stood up and I breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be able to continue my depressing research in peace. "But you know...you've been researching diseases in the past century. If you want anything more recent, I think you'd do better in Section 117B, over there." He gave a polite nod. "Good day, Ari."

Startled, I watched him leave and felt like a complete jerk. It seemed I was just offending everyone today.

Shaking my head, I stood up and headed over to Section 117B of the library.

* * *

Alphard sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his foot rhythmically on the wall behind him as he waited for the class inside to finish. He scratched the back of his head lazily and fidgeted until he heard Professor Merrythought finally dismiss his students. Immediately, he took his foot off the wall and stood up straight, watching the flood of people move past him.

Riddle was among them. Alphard caught his eye and Riddle gave a curt nod in response, bending is head to utter a short apology to the girl at his arm with a charming smile. Alphard stirred uncomfortably. It had always unnerved him how Riddle could slip into different personas as easily as if it were his own skin, and charm everyone he met while doing it. It wasn't...normal.

Riddle approached him and he straightened up, keeping his face carefully neutral. "Riddle."

"Alphard," the other boy acknowledged gracefully and Alphard took a breath.

"So, I did what you asked me to do...I spoke to your, er friend. She was in the Library." He noted the darkening of Riddle's eyes at the mention of her and felt a momentary rush of sympathy for the poor girl.

"And what was she doing?" Riddle said quietly.

"Well, it looked like research, I suppose...she seemed a bit crotchety at me for interrupting her. I managed to take this—" he held up a book, "from the table without her noticing."

Riddle took the book from him and scanned its cover. A brow quirked upwards. "Ah...so she doesn't know..." he murmured to himself, leafing through its pages.

"Sorry?"

Riddle looked up. "What else, Alphard?"

"Well...she was angry about something earlier this morning, I suppose." _Riddle was too_, he recalled suddenly, remembering the thunderous expression on the Slytherin Prefect's face as he left his dormitory. "Riddle, what's so important about this girl? She's strange, I'll give you that, but she looks pretty harmless to me."

"Are you questioning me, Black?" Riddle said softly, his dark eyes glittering and Alphard looked down.

"No, Riddle," he said through gritted teeth. Riddle looked amused.

"Besides, she's no longer your concern," he continued boredly. "I'll deal with her myself, now. However...Evans and McDonald...they seem...how should I say it? _Averse_, to me somehow. They are rather disinclined to be in company, as I'm sure you've noticed."

Alphard nodded; the exchange students' abrupt and intense dislike for their leader of the Knights of Walpurgis was something that was well discussed among its members.

"And yet the boy, Evans, seems to trust you." Alphard jolted, he thought he knew where this was leading.

"You want me to report on them to you?" he asked Riddle dubiously. The other boy gave a thin smile in reply and shut the book in his hands.

"Very astute, Alphard," he said dryly. "But yes, that is what I am asking you to do."

"Right," Alphard said faintly. Riddle patted him condescendingly on the shoulder.

"You always were one of my most loyal, Black," he said with a smile and Alphard turned to watch helplessly as he swept past, school robes billowing out past him.

"Professor Slughorn still wishes to speak to you about your essay," Riddle called out without looking back and then he was lost in the sea of students.

Alphard watched his exit with the familiar mixture of awe, unease and envy.

It wasn't _normal_.

* * *

I gripped my lit wand carefully between my teeth and aimed its light at the pages of the open book in my lap. I scanned the first paragraph briefly and then snapped the book shut, carefully putting it on the pile to my right.

_Next book...c'mon..._

It was very late. I'd missed lunch, dinner and my last two classes to continue my research in the library—which, although speeded markedly by Alphard's helpful hint, was still going nowhere. I found descriptions of symptoms similar to what I was experiencing, but none of them really _fit_, really felt _right_.

_Okay...next book..._

My tired eyes were reading the same sentences over and over. My tired eyes were reading the same sentences over and over. My head drooped forward onto my chest...

_I was in the Hogsmeade Forest again, sprawled out on the ground against a tree. I was still tired. How could I still be tired if I was dreaming?_

_I fought to keep my eyes open and straightened up, pushing myself upright. I lifted my head up and my eyes widened fractionally at the sight of a crooked, vaguely human-shaped shadow a distance away from me. It turned its featureless face in my direction._

"_I know you," I said. "But I'll forget you when I wake up, won't I?"_

_The crone bared her teeth in a hideous imitation of a smile and nodded._

"_Help me," I said. "I can't do this by myself."_

_The crone's smile only grew wider. "_You never were."

Bang!

Stars burst in front of my eyes and I jolted awake at the blinding pain originating from the top of my head. Something heavy fell into my lap and, massaging the tender spot on my scalp, I picked it up.

It was a book. I glanced at its cover. _Magical Maladies & Their Symptoms._

I opened it and began to flick absentmindedly through its contents, robotically turning page after page, scanning through the barely readable print. Nothing. There was nothing useful here.

I flipped through the pages faster until my fingers caught on some sort of sticky resin. Mildly revolted, I tried to get my finger unstuck, but the substance wouldn't budge, holding my hand fast to the page.

I sighed and looked down—and then stopped.

"—_the individual experiences severe nausea and dizziness, often accompanied with bouts of cold sweats and visions of auras—"_

Now fully awake, I adjusted my position against the bookcases, nose only inches away from the page of the book.

"—_will also tend to expel black fluid from the mouth and nose. This disease is known as_Corpus Defessum_, literally, 'weary body' and its symptoms have been extensively documented through case studies—"_

This was perfect! This was exactly it! I—

'_...although to date no treatment has been discovered due to the limited number of sufferers. This inevitably leads to the patient's death.'_

**A/N: Has everyone seen the last HP movie? Man, I swear it's so sad that this great series had to end...when I was a kid, I always said my childhood would end when HP ended. But now, I don't think I'm quite ready to give it up yet...so now, I'll say it'll end when I finish this fanfiction. So, probably when I'm like, 50 or something. :P**


	13. All Better

**Disclaimer: **Ixnay onay ethay owningay ofay Arryhay Otterpay.

**A/N: **I'm baaack! How've you all been? Hope you've had a good Christmans/Hannukah/New Year/blood sacrifice, thing. Tell you what, it sure is nice to see (figuratively) you all again. Enjoy!

There is a ridiculous amount of ferret-boy here.

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 12: All Better**

'_...although to date no treatment has been discovered due to the limited number of sufferers. This inevitably leads to the patient's death.'_

I stared disbelievingly at the yellowed parchment.

"No," I muttered, pressing my hands against the page as if to reach in and drag out more information from its unwilling surface. "No, come on, _that can't be it!_"

I threw the book away from me; it hit the bookcase across with a crash, landing on the floor with a noisy bang.

"_That can't be it!"_ I shouted, breaking the dark stillness of the library. I buried my head in my hands trying to breathe past the lump in my throat as I battled with the part of me that wanted to shred every book in the goddamn library and burn it _to hell_.

I thought I had found my saving grace, my life buoy: _some_ hope that people had gone through what I was experiencing and that it they'd been treated. But I hadn't expected to find out that they were only a face minority in the history of Time—that the numbers were so inconsequential, so insignificant that no one had even bothered to find a cure.

It wasn't a buoy I'd found; it was only a detailed and comprehensive guide to my death.

My eyes began to sting and I rubbed at them furiously. _I wasn't going to die. I wasn't. I could get through this—_

**...no treatment has been discovered...**

_I could, I _know_ I could—_

**...due to the limited number of sufferers...**

_Numbers don't matter, none of them were me. And I. Can. Do. Thi—_

**...inevitably leads to the patient's death.**

Somewhere else in the library something gave a thud but I found I couldn't find it in myself to care. Not even for the quick, light footsteps that drew steadily closer, not for the whispered mutter of _'Lumos_', not for the sudden ray of white light that fell across my slumped form. I felt numb.

"Ari?"

I looked up, squinting against the light; the person mumbled '_Nox_' and suddenly Draco Malfoy was standing over me.

"Hey," I said. He didn't respond and we just stayed like that, not speaking. His silver eyes surveyed the wreck around me.

"What are you doing, Ari?" he said slowly.

I shrugged and held out an arm. Begrudgingly, he pulled me upright. I dusted myself off.

"You're bleeding," Draco said and I touched a hand up to my head, feeling the tender spot where it had been hit by the book. Sure enough, my fingers came away wet. It must have been the corner that got me. "What were you doing, throwing a tantrum...?"

I bent down and picked up _Magical Maladies & Their Symptoms,_ tucking it under my arm. Draco took it off me and read the title; his cold eyes widened and darted to my face. "You're ill?"

"Take me back to the common room?" Draco frowned, but complied. As we exited the library, he threw something soft and light around us; Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Draco must have broken into the Slytherin dorms again.

He gave the password to the snoozing Fat Lady who snorted in her sleep and swung forward. Removing the Cloak off us once we were inside, he pointed to the nearest couch by the fireplace.

"Sit," he commanded. "I'll be back."

I did as he said, sitting cross legged on the lush red velvet couch. I stared into the dying embers of the fire, my mind blissfully blank. Something cold pressed into my head then and I gave an exclamation of pain.

"Ice," Draco said, giving the object to me. It was a mug filled with water frozen solid. "Keep that on your head—I mean it, Ari."

He took a seat on the coffee table in front of me, crossing one leg over the other and folding his arms. He set a bowl filled with water beside him and tossed a cloth the size of a handkerchief into it before turning back towards me. We stared at each other, the silence only broken by the occasional sputters of the smothered fire in the grate.

"Tell me."

"Page 457," I answered and taken aback, he did as I asked and began to leaf through _Magical Maladies & Their Symptoms_ ,which he had brought with him. He found the page and read through it, while I studied the patterns woven into the carpet. When he finally looked up, his face was very pale.

"This—" he looked at the book again, "—_corpus defessum_, you...have it...?"

"Apparently," I said.

"But how do you...?"

"I know. I just do." And suddenly I found myself telling him everything; about my headaches, about the future-Riddle in the Forest, about the conversation I'd overheard with Sir Constantine, how the effort I'd put into taking all of the genealogy books had been in vain, the fear I had felt ever since the day at Gladrags Wizardwear. Everything came pouring out as if I had been storing it up, and when I was done I felt better, as though some of the weight had been taken off my chest.

"Ari, you idiot," Draco said, "What do you think you're doing, trying to hide all of this? Have you lost your mind?"

"If there was a chance..." I muttered, "...that maybe I was imagining all of it? That it wasn't real...I'd cling to that for as long as I could." _Please understand. It wasn't pride, or selflessness. It was fear._

"What made you change your mind?"

"Riddle saw it." I answered. "Draco—"

"Be quiet, I'm trying to think." He began to wring the cloth in the bowl with careful hands and then to my surprise, put it against my head, expertly wiping away the small flecks of blood in my hair and on my face. His face looked drawn and pinched, and deep in thought. This struck a chord in me; I had never thought he would care. Or that he was even capable of doing anything other than smirking or sneering down his pointed nose.

"Can I ask you something?" I said; his eyes flickered to me.

"What?"

"Why were you at the Order of the Phoenix's Headquarters when I arrived in 1997?" He gave a jolt, visibly startled and his mouth curled into a sneer.

"Did Weasley tell you what horrible people my mummy and daddy were?" he said scathingly. "Did he tell you what a rotten person I was? That I deserved to be in Azkaban?"

"No."

He blinked and with a frown turned away, wringing the rag he held in his hands into the bowl. "Why do you want to know anyway?"

I simply looked at him. He sighed.

"My father's a Death Eater," he said dully. "Our family has served the Dark Lord for generations and no one has ever expected any less. Late last year my father was arrested and sent to Azkaban. The Dark Lord...he didn't like this, my father's...failure. He invited me to take his place and..." here he gave a snort, "redeem the Malfoy name.

"Naturally, I accepted. And then I received my assignment..." He glanced over to see me watching him wide eyed. "Don't ask, Ari. I won't tell what it was."

I didn't want to tell him that I already knew. "Go on, then."

"I was in Diagon Alley, looking for..." He glanced at me again, "...materials. I'd told my mother I was shopping for school supplies so she wouldn't worry and then...I met Dumbledore."

"_Dumbledore_?"

He nodded. "Outside Borgin & Burkes. I honestly had no idea why he started speaking to me—we've never done so at school, and he isn't exactly welcomed on our family's doorstep." Draco paused. "He knew. What I was going to do...and he offered me a way out. A chance to redeem my family, he said. He told me that if I accepted, my mother and I would enter the protection of the Order. It was...tempting."

"Did you accept, then?"

"No. Not at first."

"What made you do it?" I asked.

"He said something," Draco recalled, a crease forming between his brows. "Something that...I don't know. Familiar, but not. Maybe from a dream. Something that...when I heard it, I couldn't refuse."

"What was it?"

His cold grey eyes met mine. " 'It's never too late'."

A short silence fell between us.

"You're good at this." I said, as he wrung the cloth again and then Vanished it with an expert flick of his wand.

Draco snorted. "I should be. There are other spells beside the Cruciatus Curse that can cause pain, you do realize."

A sober silence fell across us; my mouth felt very dry and my eyes were stinging again.

"I don't want to die, Draco," I whispered. He glanced up sharply.

"You won't. Don't be ridiculous."

I didn't know what I wanted to do more—smile or cry. How our relationship had changed! Could it really be that only a few weeks ago I wanted to rip out his throat in annoyance? And now…he was comforting me. Telling me lies about my inevitable death.

I knew now that I could never, ever do anything in my life to deserve to know someone like Draco Malfoy.

"Draco?" He looked up. "This is…really nice of you."

He looked back down, but I could tell that his cheeks had pinked slightly. "Don't mention it," he said gruffly. I chuckled.

"No, really. _Don't_."

* * *

The next few days were hell.

On one hand, my headache had completely disappeared. I wasn't pulling a Harry Potter and collapsing/fainting around the place any more, which was a definite plus.

On the other hand, as if to keep everything balanced, my nausea had worsened. It became a routine ritual to leave immediately after class to the nearest bathroom and re acquaint myself with my previous meal. After one such episode, I was lying against the cubicle door, when I heard someone knock behind me.

"Ari?" Draco called out softly. "Are you in here?"

I made a sort of muffled grunt in reply and he seemed to take this as an affirmative. "I've got something for you..."

Making an effort, I stood up and unlocked the door; I saw Draco standing there with a familiar looking bottle in one hand.

"It's that tonic you mentioned one time," he explained, looking awkward. "I don't know if it'll help, but at least—"

The rest of his sentence was cut off when I threw my arms around him, nearly making him drop the bottle in surprise. He staggered backwards under my weight.

"Thanks," I muttered. The tonic he brought wouldn't help at all, I knew, but... he'd been doing his best to help me search for a cure for my disease ever since the night in the common room, even staying up nights to help me research. His concern was touching. "For everything."

Draco carefully put his hands on my waist and set me straight. "You're being melodramatic. It's not like you're dying, Ari."

"Mm," I said and this made him scowl.

"It'd be a pathetic way to die," he goaded, his mouth curling into a sneer. "Over a toilet bowl, de Lioncourt? I'd much rather snuff it in a duel or something—at least I'd still have my dignity."

"Love you, Draco," I mumbled and he flinched. I slid down to the ground again, leaning backwards into the front of the cubicle behind me. I wasn't sure why I let him know that—I hoped he wouldn't take it the wrong way.

"My God," he said amazed, "You've really lost it, haven't you?"

I chuckled weakly and stretched my hand out to him, curling my fingers up and down once. "C'mon, gimme the potion."

He passed it to me with a wary expression and I downed it in one, coughing at the slight sting it made down my throat. I leant my head back and closed my eyes. Gradually, the sharp, needling pains at the ends of my fingers and toes subsided; my stomach calmed somewhat. I opened my eyes. Draco was watching me.

"Better?" he asked.

I nodded. "Better."

* * *

"Ari?"

Lethargically, I turned around to see Harry hurrying towards me, his hair sticking up every which way as per usual.

"Hi," I greeted him.

"Hello. Where've you been?" he asked; he was speaking about our regular group 'meetings' in the Room of Requirement to discuss our progress on the Riddle agenda. "None of us have seen you in ages. Draco's been saying all sorts of things—since when does Professor Radvire give out detentions for 'sneezing too loudly'?"

"Er...I guess...he just doesn't like me."

"Ari," Harry said and unwillingly I looked up into his very clear, bright green eyes. "Are you in some sort of trouble? Is it Riddle...?"

"Why?" Alarmed, I reached out and gripped his wrist tightly. "Has he done anything? Is he angry? Has he tortured anyone?"

"No," Harry said, looking startled. "No, nothing like that."

I exhaled in relief; I had been incredibly anxious since the night Riddle and I had fought that he would take out his anger on the others...and yet it seemed strange that he was taking his embarrassing setback so well. "Oh, okay."

"Besides, it hasn't been _him_ that's been on our minds lately...have you read the Daily Prophet recently?"

"No."

"They've been criticizing Dumbledore for not acting out against Grindelwald," he said and his eyes glittered with anger. "They're putting pressure on him to fight him in a Wizarding duel."

"What?" I said loudly that passers-by stared. "Why?"

"They're afraid," Harry said grimly. "The Ministry of this time hasn't encountered anything like this before, all the riots and raids. They want it to stop and they know that Dumbledore is the only one who can do it."

"But he can't just leave the school, can he?" I said. "He's the only one that's keeping it safe from Grindelwald's attacks in the first place! If he hadn't arrived in Hogsmeade, it would be burned to the ground by now!"

"I know, I know," Harry said. "But the Prophet doesn't seem to include those details in their articles..."

"Well that's just rid—" The word got stuck in my throat and I put a hand up to my neck. _Oh, no, not now, not in front of him..._

"Ari?" Harry said, looking thoroughly alarmed now.

"Bathroom," I choked out and began to sprint away in the opposite direction for the closest bathroom on the floor.

The strange feeling of something rising up in me was getting stronger—this was different from mere nausea but rather something more suffocating, and painful. It hurt to even breathe.

"Ari? Ari—wait! Let go of me, you silly girl—de Lioncourt!"

I burst through the door of the bathroom and threw myself at the sink. My whole body arched, convulsed as I hacked and spluttered, but nothing came out, save for a few drops of black liquid. When I tried to take a breath I found there was something thick and glutinous blocking my nose and my lungs.

Dizzy, I fell to my knees; my school bag fell to the floor and its contents scattered in all directions. My fingers scrabbled at the white tile as I fought to get oxygen to my starved brain but it was useless; black tendrils of shadow were creeping at the edges of my vision; red lights burst in front of my eyes and then I was going, going, gone...

I awoke to someone slapping my face, and calling my name.

"C'mon, dammit—_Ari de Lioncourt_!" I opened my eyes and took the full blow of the smack to my face.

"Ouch!" I sat up to face Draco, whose eyes were wide with shock. "That hurt!"

"You stupid woman," he hissed. "Why didn't you _find_ me?"

"What happened?" I asked, appraising him. His blonde hair was in disarray falling over his face and he looked very pale. "Why are we on the floor?"

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and took several deep breaths. There was a strange taste on my lips and my tongue darted out to get at the remnants of the odd flavour. It was bittersweet.

"Ari," he said when he had finally managed to keep his temper in check, "I found you on the bathroom floor, unconscious. You weren't breathing."

My hand flew up to my throat. "I remember that..." I whispered. "I thought that was it. How am I still here?"

Draco sat back on his heels, giving me a sharp stare. "I gave you the potion that fell out of your bag. It was only a few inches out of your reach—did you find another cure without telling me?"

Frowning, I took the small, empty vial from him and held it close, examining it. "You know, it looks like..." My eyes widened and I almost dropped the glass container. "Riddle!"

" 'It looks like Riddle?' " Draco repeated and I waved him away.

"No...I forgot to tell you..." I recounted my meeting with future-Riddle in the Forest of Hogsmeade to him and he hissed in shock. "The vial must have fallen out when I dropped my bag..."

"You were _alone_ with him, de Lioncourt?" Draco hissed, gripping my shoulders so tightly it hurt. I winced and pushed him away.

"That's not the point, Draco!" I was panicking now and the pitch of my voice reflected that. Frantically, I scrambled to my feet and looked in the mirror. "He gave me a vial of some unknown substance—and I _drank_ it!"

Now it was Draco's turn to look alarmed; he got up to his feet as well and stood behind me as I examined myself in the mirror.

"We have to get you to the Hospital Wing," he said in a low, urgent voice.

"Wait a moment," I said, peering closer at my reflection.

"Ari, we don't have time for this, you have no idea how quickly toxins act—"

"Wait!" I put a hand over his mouth and stepped closer to the mirror, my eyes wide with disbelief. "Draco...look..."

We both stared into the mirror and the shock registered visibly on the faces we saw there. I looked...different. The dark circles under my eyes had vanished, making me look wide awake and alert. There was color in my cheeks; even my hair seemed shinier.

"I look good," I said, amazed and Draco glanced down sharply at me. It wasn't just the appearance, as well—my head felt completely clear for the first time in what seemed like years. I tried a few practice breaths and found they went in and out of me with no obstructions, as freely and as lightly as...well, air. My hands and feet were completely still; not a single tremor ran through them. I was...fixed.

A smile spread across my face like the sun breaking through the clouds. I flexed my arms and fluttered my fingers; I wiggled my hips and stamped my feet. Finally I did a pirouette on the spot, my beam stretching from ear to ear.

"Are you just going to stand there grinning like an idiot?" Draco said irritably and I laughed. This only served to incense him; he gripped my forearms to stop my happy spinning. "Dammit Ari, are you _mad_? It could be poisoned!"

This sobered me slightly but not by much; after much arguing on Draco's part, I agreed to visit the Hospital Wing with him. But Madame Laroche only confirmed my hopes and aggravated Draco by announcing that there was nothing at all wrong with me.

Draco didn't speak to me as we returned to the Gryffindor Tower, which made me exasperated.

"What is your problem?" I demanded, rounding on him. "I'm fine now, aren't I?"

He gave me a look so angry I recoiled. "That's not the point, de Lioncourt! Are you really going to trust the Dark Lord so much that you'd practically eat out of his hand?"

"He saved my life, Draco," I said quietly. "Once, when he killed the Grindelwald soldier, and again, now, with the potion."

"And he tried to kill you again shortly afterwards!" Draco yelled, startling several first years who were watching us at the side.

"We're rehearsing for a play," I told them and turned back to Draco. "Okay, okay you're right. I'm sorry, I got carried away. But if it really was poison that he gave me, what are we going to do then? I already swallowed it."

"We wait," he said seriously. "If anything comes up...so help me God, I'm going to take leaf from Potter's book and shove a bezoar down your throat."

But days passed and nothing happened: I didn't drop dead in the middle of classes, foam didn't shoot out of my mouth, I didn't start convulsing at the dinner table. Draco didn't buy it; he still insisted that something bad was going to happen. He was a blond version of Professor Trelawney.

But he was right.

I massaged my aching temples gingerly as I took notes from the board with my other hand. I closed my eyes as a particularly vicious spike of pain drove through my head and my hand curled into a fist on the paper.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, not pausing as she continued to scribble furiously on her parchment. I shook my head.

It was back. Everything was returning—the loss of feeling at the ends of my fingers and toes, the headaches, the lethargy. Soon I'd be spending all of my free time in bathrooms again, just like the good old days.

The thought made me want to cry with sheer frustration.

Riddle's potion hadn't cured me, as I had thought, but rather only let the symptoms subside for a while. A very short while. And I had finished all of it when Draco had tipped the entirety of the vial's contents down my throat while I was out cold.

What was I going to do? No cure hadn't been invented for corpus defessum, no other tonic or potion that Draco and I had tried or researched had worked even remotely to the effect that Riddle's had. And then there was that dangerous idea, growing like an abhorrent plant at the back of my mind...

I bit my lip. _No. I can't. I shouldn't even be thinking about it._

But I did, and the more my mind flashed to it, the more attractive it became to me. Not to mention...the more things began to make sense. How the future-Riddle had known there was something wrong with me ("_How have you been feeling, Ari?"_), why he had a potion that seemed tailored specifically for my disease...

Had I asked him to help me?

I put my head in my hands. I hated this—to be bound, cornered, walled in by Fate. If I asked, would it be because Fate dictated I _would_ ask? Is it my free will? What would happen if I refused?

_I will die unless I find an antidote_, I reminded myself harshly. _I have to do this._

But when? When could possibly be the right time to ask the Dark Lord himself to…oh.

Right.

* * *

I cocked my head to one side, looking carefully at the mirror. Then I twisted around so that I could see my back. I turned to the side and tried to stand up straight; the answering crack from my spine told me that it wasn't going to happen.

Sighing, I twirled around again; the gold fabric caught the light and shimmered. _At least the dress is nice..._

"For God's sake, Ari, are you finished yet?"

"In a second!" I yelled out down the stairs of the girls dormitory and returned to the mirror, chewing on my lip.

It wasn't that I was nervous about my appearance, or the fact that I haven't worn a dress since the day of my parents' funeral. Or even about Slughorn's party in general; mingling was never really my schtick.

It was the fact that I would speak to Riddle for the first time since I spat in his face and did the Wizarding equivalent of kneeing him in the crotch that worried me.

How would he react? Would he curse me? Jinx me, hex me, kill me? Or would he try to pretend as if nothing had happened?

I snorted. _That'll be the day._

"Bloody Merlin, de Lioncourt—"

I stomped down the stairs and presented myself to Draco with a twirl and a flourish. "Ta-da!" I said proudly. "What do you think?"

I felt pretty good about myself; I was wearing a pretty dress, my hair wasn't too awful today. I'd even borrowed Draco's magical razor to shave my legs (not that he knew).

He folded his arms and eyed me critically for a moment. "That's your dress?"

"Yeah," I said warily. "Why, what's wrong with it?"

Draco shrugged. "Oh, nothing. But if you really wanted to advertise the fact that your blood status is lower than a sack of dung at a pureblood party, then you're doing wonderfully."

I snorted, carefully arranging the skirt that billowed out at my waist, stopping just below my knees. "What, and I'd expect they'd be wearing all their fine furs, gloves and tiaras...?"

"Yes," Draco said bluntly. "Yours is more a...housedress, than anything else."

"Well up yours," I grumbled, stomping to snatch my purse (i.e. my schoolbag that I had gotten Draco to shrink to an acceptable size for me) off one of the armchairs on the other end of the room.

"Ari..." Draco sounded disbelieving, "...whose shoes are you wearing?"

I blushed and looked down at the 3-inch heeled dark brown clogs I wore, complete with laces and buckles. "Professor Dumbledore... offered to lend me his... I didn't have any other pairs beside the ones I use for school...and I thought they looked nice..."

I peeked at Draco's face and saw that it was completely blank. "Oh."

"Uh-huh. Well, anyway, I said I'd meet Hermione at the West Tower so I'm gonna go now—" I checked the clock that hung above the Gryffindor fireplace. "Yep, definitely have to go—I'll see you later!" I shouted as I ran out of the room.

_Ah, I forgot! _I popped my head back in. "Love you, Draco."

"For God's sake, stop saying that!" he yelled back and I grinned to myself as I moved down the stairs that led from the Fat Lady's portrait two steps at a time.

I found Hermione at the base of the Tower, looking resplendent in cerulean dress robes. Her hair was shiny and straight.

"Oh hello, Ari," she greeted me. "You look nice. Er...lovely shoes."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, you too."

We walked to Slughorn's office together, chattering excitedly about the party. Despite myself, I felt eager to see my first Wizarding shindig and I told this to Hermione who kept a smug expression on her face the whole time.

"Well, I think it'll be fascinating to meet the famous witches and wizards of this time," she said, beaming. "I heard that Elladora Ketteridge will be there, she's a really famous potioneer; I've only read about her in books..."

I knocked on the door to Slughorn's office and it opened to reveal Slughorn himself, already quite red, and smelling strongly of brandy. "Ah, Miss Granger, Miss de Lioncourt! I'm glad you were able to come—enter!"

He introduced us to people who were obviously quite famous but whose names I'd never heard before—Jakob Fitzwilliam_,_ an author of some sort, Jasper Standorf, a famous Quidditch player, and then to Hermione's absolute delight, Elladora Ketteridge.

"I've read about you!" she told the short, round faced woman with curly blonde hair. "You pioneered the way for women's rights in academic community!"

"Excuse me?" Ketteridge said, looking genuinely offended. "Whatever are you talking about? Women have no place in academics!"

I had to stifle a laugh at Hermione's blink. "But…you're a potioneer! You're famous for the countless spells you invented—"

"Household spells, dear," Ketteridge cut her off. She sniffed. "Our rightful place is behind a cauldron, everyone knows that!"

I missed Hermione's heated reply as I was distracted by the figure glad in deep green dress robes at the far end of the room. Riddle. As I watched him, he laughed and bid a goodbye to the curvy witch he had been speaking to. He looked up and over the sea of heads our eyes met: grey against brown.

Then he turned and vanished through the open doorway behind him.

"I'll catch up with you later," I muttered to Hermione, who ignored me as she continued with her politically correct rant to Ketteridge. I slipped through the crowd and into the doorway Riddle had gone through.

It opened into a long, stone corridor; I looked left and right and caught the swish of the tail of his robes down the latter. I followed and hid behind the corner.

He was staring at the view of the inky night sky through the open archway before him, his hands clasped behind his back.

_Alright. Here we go._ I took one deep breath to steel myself and stepped out of my hiding place. But Riddle was no longer there, to my confusion.

"Looking for anyone in particular, Miss de Lioncourt?"

I jumped and whirled around to see him leaning against the archway I had just passed, his arms cross over his chest and staring at me intently.

"I don't—" I stopped. "Yeah. Yeah, I was. I was looking for you, Riddle."

He was silent and I began to pace slowly, wringing my hands. "I know that you know there's something…not quite right with me. My…sickness. Right?"

Riddle didn't reply, merely listening to my inane chatter.

"I know you know how to cure it, Riddle. So…that's why I'm here, even I know it's completely insane, I…" I took another deep breath. "I need your help."

Just when the silence that had fallen after my words made me want to crawl out of my skin, Riddle pushed himself off the archway and

Just when the silence that had fallen after my words made me want to crawl out of my skin, Riddle pushed himself off the archway and stood in front of me, his expression curious.

"My help?" he said quietly. Throat tight, I nodded. He smiled a frightening smile. "And what would you give me in return, Ariadne?"

"In ret—" I stopped. "I don't know. I don't know."

"Then I'm afraid I can't help you, Ariadne," Riddle said, smiling broadly. He turned on his heel and left; I panicked.

"It's going to kill me, Riddle!" I blurted desperately. The blood was roaring in my ears and my throat felt so dry—I was going to be sick again, surely…

Riddle stopped and then turned around, his steely eyes meeting mine. "I know," he said simply.

And then he left.

I fell to my knees, coughing. Tears streamed down my face as my body convulsed in agony as red flew out my mouth again, spattering thickly on the floor.

I, could, not, _breathe_.

And then—

I was standing, dizzy and disoriented. The pain was gone. I whirled around, turning circles on the spot. I was in the same place, but it was different...daylight streamed through the glass windows; I could hear students' voices just around the corner.

_What...?_

I felt around; arms, elbows, fingers. Nothing important had changed. I was even still wearing the same gold dress. But where was I?

Then, someone called out my name from behind me. "Ariadne?"

I turned around and then hissed, recoiling in surprise and shock. "_Riddle?_"

He stood at the end of the stone corridor, a thick and heavy textbook under his arm. He looked slightly surprised to see me standing there. To me, seeing him cleared all the confusion I felt immediately—I knew this was somehow his doing and I became angry. "What did you do? What have you done? Where am I?"

Riddle gave me a scrutinizing look, his expression unreadable. "Follow me." He turned away and began to walk, his robes billowing out behind him and I stared at him in disbelief. Did he really expect me to just follow...?

"Wait!" I ran forward until I was beside him, hurrying to keep up with his long strides. "Riddle, what on earth are you—"

He stopped abruptly and pulled me close to him, moving to the side so that we were behind one of the marble pillars that adorned the sides of the walkway. It was almost an embrace: his arms were around me in and his lips were very close to my ear. I struggled to get out but he only tightened his grip, which didn't make sense until I heard the sounds of a chattering group walk past us.

"Ron, that's ridiculous, you can't just say that house elves honestly _enjoy_ being treated the way they do—" I gave a jolt of surprise as I recognized Hermione's haughty voice as they walked by. _But that's impossible, because I just left Hermione back at Slughorn's party..._

My breathing hitched. I was time travelling.

"Did you use the Locket again?" I whispered and Riddle snorted quietly, adjusting our position against the wall.

"This is by your own fault, Ariadne." He paused, listening to the sounds of Hermione and Ron's retreating footsteps; he removed his arms from around me and began to move once more. I followed him.

He stopped just outside the familiar stretch of wall that led to the Room of Requirement and after a beat a handle formed on its surface. Hesitantly, I went inside after him, closing the door behind me.

The Room looked completely different than the one I used with the others from 1997; it was roughly the same size, but it was littered with long, wooden desks similar to those down in the dungeons where we had Potions. A number of strange apparatus sat on their surfaces, and in the desk closest to where I stood sat a medium sized black cauldron, which Riddle currently presided over. He glanced upwards and moved briskly towards me, stopping only inches away.

"What are you...?" My voice trailed away as he scanned my face in a manner that reminded me of the Riddle I had met in the Hogsmeade Forest. He stepped back.

"Two milligrams of hellebore, maybe three..." he muttered and turned away to pick his way through the equipment set up around him. He addressed me while examining a conical flask filled with a strange, gold liquid. "You've travelled in time, Ariadne."

"I figured that out already, funnily enough," I said, approaching the desks. "What did you do to me?"

Riddle turned to face me, giving me a cold look. "I did not do anything to you," he said shortly, turning back to his work. "It was your corpus defessum."

I started at the name; how did he...? "My...but how—"

"Your molecular makeup has been rendered unstable by your affliction, and because of your affiliation with Time, this caused you to lapse forward."

"Forward?" I repeated, amazed. "I'm in the future?"

Riddle gave a short nod and stunned, I sat down in the chair that had conveniently materialized behind me. "Then...I must have convinced you after all," I whispered and Riddle glanced at me sharply. "I didn't think that would be possible."

A short silence fell between us. Riddle was still watching me and with a Herculean effort, I pulled myself out of my thoughts. "So that potion that you're making over there...is that for me?"

Riddle nodded curtly. "It is what we have accomplished so far. It's...complicated."

_That's why I need you_, I thought. "How long have we been doing this?"

"A week or so," he answered, dropping something into the cauldron in front of him. Bright yellow spirals of steam issued from the pot and he waved it away with a long hand. He then proceeded to add five more unrecognizable ingredients in succession to the mixture; it hissed a shower of green sparks.

"Riddle...how did I convince you?" This made him stop working; he set his wand down on the desk and met my eyes.

"You made an offer," he said quietly. "An offer that was...very, very hard to turn down."

"What was it?"

Riddle sighed and dipped a flask into the cauldron. He picked his way out of the maze of desks and brought the glass towards me, holding it at eyelevel. After a moment, he offered it to me. "Drink this. I don't know how long its effects would last, or its potency, but I believe it should prevent any further time lapses for a while."

I took it from him. "It's the wrong color."

A crease formed between Riddle's ink-black brows. "What?"

"It's supposed to be black. Like oil, or tar," I recalled. "And viscous."

Riddle stared down at me with an impenetrable expression. "How do you know that?'

"On the day that Grindelwald attacked Hogsmeade, I met you in Forest," I recounted. "Your future self, I think. You gave me a vial of something...when I drank it, everything went away. It wasn't complete...but to me it seemed very close."

I watched as Riddle's aristocratic profile as he looked out the window at wall to his left; his hands clasped behind his back. He appeared to be deep in thought. "I see."

An uncomfortable (at least on my part) silence ensued while Riddle continued to look out the window. I shuffled my feet awkwardly and attempted to break the suffocating quiet. "So...how am I doing in the future?"

"Badly." Riddle responded, much to my shock. "I don't know how much longer you'll last."

"You...really don't mince words, do you?"

He only looked at me in reply. "Drink the potion. Slughorn will be looking for you at the party."

"How did you know I'm from that time?" I asked, peering into the contents of the flask.

His answer sounded unimpressed. "You're still wearing that ridiculous dress."

I winced and smoothed down the skirt of my dress self consciously. "Well _I _like it," I muttered and he gave me a pointed look. I sighed. "Alright, I'm gone." I held the flask up to my lips and paused. "Riddle, this better not kill me..."

"I assure you, it won't." A thin smile found itself on his lips. "Immediately."

My chuckle died away when I saw that his face was completely serious. I cleared my throat. "I'll see you...around, then."

Riddle turned away as I flung the potion down my throat; I gasped, doubling over as my gut twisted—

"Miss de Lioncourt?"

I whirled around, my hands still clutched to my throat as I met the confused faces of Slughorn and Hermione standing before me.

"Professor!" I croaked out. "How are you?"

He eyed me warily. I noticed that his ginger moustache was slightly speckled with sugar from his favourite crystallized pineapple. "Are you alright, dear?"

"Yeah, I'm wonderful!" I said cheerfully. I grabbed Hermione's arm and dragged her back through the doorway, into…Slughorn's empty office.

"What on earth…?" I muttered. "Where did everyone go?"

"Where did _you_ go?" Hermione asked. "You've been gone for over an hour!"

An hour? It had felt like only fifteen minutes that I had been away. But I couldn't tell Hermione about my little detour…

"Oh yeah, well…the buffet got me," I said, shrugging. "That pecan pie, man…" Hermione didn't look deterred so hurriedly I asked her, " How was your um, talk with Ketteridge?"

It worked; Hermione gave a violent shudder. "Oh—don't even talk to me about that!"

"That bad, huh?"

"She is such a—cow! I can't believe I once idolized that delusional—" I smiled as she continued her rant as we left Slughorn's office.

What an interesting night.

* * *

"How are you feeling?" Draco asked me as I lounged in my beanbag. We were in the Room of Requirement again, and Harry, Ron and Hermione were talking quietly in the other corner.

"Better, thanks." It was true. Now that I knew that I had somehow convinced Riddle to help me had improved my mood marginally. But I still didn't know what I had said!

Why couldn't he have just told me? God!

"Ari!" Draco waved his hand in front of my face. "Have you been listening to a word I was saying?"

"No," I answered truthfully and he looked offended. "Sorry, Draco. I just have a lot on my mind right now. What is it?"

"I need my book back."

"Book…?" I murmured.

He snapped his fingers in front of my face, annoyed now. "Yes, my book, you cow! The Herbology text you borrowed from me last week?"

"Oh, right…" I reached into my bag beside me and began to rifle through it. "It's just in here-"

My sentence cut off as I stared at the book I held in my hands. It wasn't Draco's Herbology book—it was something that I, in all my panic about my illness, had so stupidly forgotten…

I leapt to my feet. "I have to go to the Library!" I yelled and darted out of the Room.

"That's got to be the most convincing impression of you I've seen yet, Hermione," Ron said behind me and I slammed the door shut, sprinting down the corridor.

This was wrong. I knew that. It went against everything, _everything _all of us had been working towards—against everything I fought for.

But _goddammit_, I was _not_ ready to die yet.

Dumbledore's book in my hands, I pushed open the Library doors and looked around. There he was. How had I known he'd be there? I don't know.

I walked towards him; hearing my footsteps, he looked up and snapped the book in his hands shut. He frowned at me, as if I were a particularly difficult puzzle he wanted to solve.

Huffing slightly from my run, I told him, "We need to talk. Somewhere private."

He raised an eyebrow and pulled the chain of the First Locket around his neck so that its pendant hung out in the open. He held my gaze as he turned it; it flashed silver and suddenly…

Everything stopped.

I looked around. A girl that had been about to sneeze sat with her face contorted, as if she were sucking on the world's sourest lemon. A boy stood with his arms raised protectively over his head as a heavy textbook hovered above him, stopped in midair. A teacher's arms were outstretched as an ink bottled permanently teetered on the edge of a desk, about to spill.

Nothing moved, nothing breathed. Just us.

Shakily, I turned back to the boy in front of me.

"I can help you," I said, and my voice sounded as though it was coming from a great distance.

"With what, Miss de Lioncourt?" Riddle whispered in a voice that was almost a purr.

I counted the beats of silence that ticked past in my head until I forced myself to look up into Riddle's scarlet eyes.

"With your Horcruxes."

**A/N: Ah, this character. I LURRVED this chapter so hard! Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think, please! I do appreciate your reviews.**


	14. Magic Together

**Disclaimer: **Absolutely not.

**A/N: **It's me! Here's the next chapter of PTL, another giant update to make up for my poor deadlines. Uh, before we start though, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to an anonymous reviewer—AwesomeEraser—for the incredible review of my story. I wish you'd signed in so that I could thank you properly for really lifting up my day! I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much as you enjoyed the others.

That goes for everyone else too! I read all my reviews obsessively, you're all incredible, really.

And, onward!

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 13: Magic Together**

"_I can help you."_

"_With what, Miss de Lioncourt?"_

"_With your Horcruxes."_

The ensuing silence was unbearable. Not only because it was a silence I'd never before encountered in my life—the sound of utter stillness, the abrupt _cease_ of Time—but because of my own debilitating fear of the reception of my proposal.

It was so stupid. So, so selfish.

At first glance, it would have seemed as if the subject of my proposition had not even heard me; he remained in the same position as I had found him earlier: standing relaxed by one of the library shelves, a heavy book tucked negligently underneath his arm. But I'd watched him for long enough from a safe distance to see the warning signs; the whitening of his knuckles around his book, the bleed of red color in his dark eyes. They were like flashing beacons, each one of them screaming for me to _run._

I coughed sharply, breaking the excruciating stillness. "Look, I know it's hard for you to understand why I'm doing this but Riddle, I'm dying. I need you. And I know you need me because…"

Restlessly, I ran my hands through my hair and exhaled a sharp, tense breath.

"What I'm saying is…I think we can help each other out. And if not…I— I'd—I guess I'd definitely be curious to know what Dumbledore thinks about your little _project_."

He reacted then, much to my short-lived relief; my palms began to sweat when he took a single portentous step towards me. His face was expressionless, almost serene in its stillness—and yet there was a strange, cold, and livid fury that was almost palpable in its intensity, its hatred. I flinched.

"Is that _blackmail_, Miss de Lioncourt?" he said softly.

A bolt of pain sliced through my head, making me grit my teeth. "If that's what it takes, Riddle."

Something flickered in his eyes. "Interesting."

Beat.

I threw myself to the side, skidding across the library table beside me as a jet of green light crashed into the marble floor, the very same spot I had been standing in a split second earlier. I landed painfully, sending chairs and papers toppling everywhere and my hand fumbled for my wand as I struggled to get back to my feet.

Firing a retaliatory curse in his direction, I clambered over the lines of desks and chairs in my path, often tripping or slipping as I attempted to dodge the bolts of multicolored light that flew past me. One whizzed dangerously close to my ear and I stumbled over one of the chairs, landing on the floor once more with the stench of burning hair heavy and odorous in my nostrils. It didn't escape my notice that the chair the spell that had been meant for me had hit was now a wreck of splinters on the floor.

A succession of crashes alerted me to Riddle's approach; my head snapped up to see the series of mangled and broken obstacles in his path parting like the Red Sea; they slammed into the walls of the Library where they shattered upon impact. Quickly, I scrambled out of the way just in time for an entire table to explode into a hundred, sharp wooden fragments—I covered my head with my arms and continued to move blindly backwards in a feeble attempt to protect myself. I hit something stiff that didn't feel like furniture and I glanced behind me. It was the frozen figure of a girl.

Abruptly, I became viciously aware of the other frozen people around the Library, completely unaware of the danger that roared through the air towards them—cursing, I pushed the two second-years out of the way and aimed the _Ventus_ spell at the others to move them out of Riddle's path of destruction. A bolt of red light grazed the side of my face and I jerked backwards, letting it miss me by inches as I dove towards the immobile first year girl in the middle of the room.

We crashed into the floor; without thinking, I kicked up a nearby chair into the air in front of us where it was then blasted into smithereens by the curse it had barely intercepted.

"Enough, Riddle!" I yelled out, acutely aware of the wide, glassy eyes of the girl on my face. Shoving the rubble away from us, I stood up to face the eerily still figure of Riddle on the other side of the room, his face expressionless, his eyes glittering red like blood. My hands were shaking badly from fear, my voice high and strained. My knuckles were bone-white on the handle of my wand.

"_Protego_!" The weak, shivering form of my Shield Charm expanded in front of me, deflecting the bolts of light hurtling through the air. Grunting with exertion, I sent a nearby table flying towards him which he tore in half mid-air with an annoyed twitch of his hand. He brought his hand down in a cruel, downward arc; there was a flash of purple light and—

My wand clattered onto the floor, the echoing in the abrupt silence that filled the room. I staggered, bringing my hand up to my face. It came away dripping and stained heavily with scarlet. For a moment, I simply stared at it, shocked.

Then pain for which I had no comparison—for I had never experienced it like this—struck me; it was like a blaze of fire blazing, burning, _searing_ into the entire left side of my face. Slowly, almost gracefully, I sank down to my knees.

"Ri-Rid..."

Through my good eye I saw Riddle stride towards me, his wand raised and a thin smile on his lips. Then I saw my wand lying on the floor beside me; sluggishly, I reached for it, felt my fingers, wet with my own blood grasp around the alder wood…

There was a strange, ripping sound. Riddle and I froze, locking our eyes together for a single beat.

"What…what on earth…?"

My head jerked towards the direction of the unfamiliar voice, hands still clutched to my face. It was the first-year girl I'd tackled to the ground earlier, but she was…moving, staring wildly around her chaotic surroundings, her mouth hanging open.

My eyes flicked back to Riddle's frozen expression and then to the Locket glimmering around his neck.

Behind me, someone screamed; apparently, it wasn't just the girl who had broken out of the Locket's spell. People were getting up, buzzing in confusion or nursing mysterious bruises on their person as if some lunatic had shoved them roughly to the ground when they weren't looking.

"What is going on? What has happened here?" The reedy voice of Professor Merrythought cut into the growing din and I saw Riddle turn his head sharply. Distracted.

One hand pressed tightly to the side of my face, I slipped quietly out of the room, leaving Riddle surrounded by the wreckage.

* * *

"Like I said. I fell."

Madame Laroche clucked her tongue sternly and poked at the purple-green substance smeared on the side of my face sharply with her wand. "Your face will feel quite raw for some time," she told me and brought out a small jar of the same purple-green ointment out of her pocket. "I suggest you apply this each night, to help with tissue repair."

"Thank you," I said, pocketing it. One thing about the Hogwarts staff—they didn't ask too many questions.

She left then, and I sat on the bed, staring unseeingly at my hands. The Hospital Wing was quiet, and I took that to mean that _he_ must have repaired the Locket's mistake…

Had I been wrong?

I couldn't have been. Impossible. Riddle himself, future Riddle had told me…granted, he'd said that I hadn't been doing well in the future…but I was still _alive_, wasn't I? Still breathing?

And even so…would that ridiculous semblance of survival be worth betraying the others, Dumbledore—would it be worth going back on the entire purpose of being in this Time? _I was going to help him with his Horcruxes._ I was going to help the Dark Lord—murderer—attain immortality. For a few breaths, a few more seconds of life—for an unfinished potion in a dusty bottle.

If he hadn't responded the way he had…

The left half of my face tingled unpleasantly.

I was _so afraid._

This idiotic affliction—this cursed disease—hadn't I already gone through it before? Hadn't I felt my heart give out, my breath dissipate, my mind become engulfed in smothering, greedy darkness on the cold stone floor of the girl's toilet?

And by the most stupid of miracles, I had been saved. But only for a few precious days before everything _repeated_…

If I had battled with my Boggart again, what is it that I would have seen now?

_Crack._ Slumped over a wooden desk, eyes vacant and empty, veins swollen and black across shrunken cheeks and hands…

_Crack._ Against the stone walls of the corridors, a pool of dark blood growing under a broken silhouette…

_Crack._ Drowning, always, _always_ drowning, suffocating under each polite breath—choking, _dying_—

Was it so bad then? Was it so bad to want to stop it, to do everything I can for _please, _just a little more time, anything to hold it off…

Well. No chance of that. Even to someone as classically oblivious as me, it was quite clear Riddle was not going to accept.

And I was going to die, again.

Furiously, I brushed at my prickling eyes—and then howled in pain as I scraped the still tender side of my face. Tears welling up in earnest now, I hurriedly unscrewed the jar of ointment Madame Laroche had given me, tossing its lid beside me where it landed face up.

I did a double take. There was something attached to underside of the lid. A small square of yellow parchment. Temporarily ignoring my stinging injuries, I gingerly peeled it off and unfolded it with slow, clumsy fingers.

_**Not yet.**_

I let my finger trace over the words, running over the sharp indents of the letters. It was mine. My handwriting. This was...me.

My mind was reeling; the paper fluttered to the ground. I must have—maybe in the future—would I have known?—of course I would have known, all of this must have happened already somewhere, some _Time_—

Abruptly a deep sense of calm filled me. 'I' was telling myself not to give up. So I wouldn't. Everything would be alright.

Everything would be alright.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

Ignoring my faux brother and my breakfast, I kept my eyes trained on the Slytherin table—or more specifically, a certain person _at_ the table. "C'mon…" I muttered. "Where are you…a_ha_!"

As was the custom each morning, a flood of grey and tawny owls burst into the Great Hall, temporary blocking the sunlight that shone in from the higher windows. I scanned the group. It _should_ be there…

On cue, a handsome snowy owl—easily the largest out of the rest—landed gracefully on the Slytherin table and perched expectantly on top of the package it carried: a basket of deep red poinsettias. My favorite flowers.

Immediately the boys at the table quieted; several of them adopted looks of intense disbelief—or in one case, strong amusement (it might have been Alphard) at the unusually cheerful addition. However, the coldest stare came from—unsurprisingly—the flowers' recipient: one Mr Tom M. Riddle. His trademark indifference cracked slightly when he realized that the poinsettias weren't just poinsettias—

"_FROM A SECRET ADMIRER!_"

-but singing ones.

"_When I see you, it's like taking a curse to the face_

_I feel a little breathless, a little outta place_

_But hey, come good or bad weather_

_I think we can make great magic together_

_!_

_I know you're mad (which makes me sad)_

_I guess lately I've acted kinda bad_

_But hey, come good or bad weather_

_I think we can make great magic together_

_!_

_I need you and you need me,_

_All in all, we're like two birds in a tree,_

_Honestly, I want to get better _

_I really, REALLY think we'd make great magic together_

_!_

_So don't be shy,_

_Just say hi,_

_Don't when you see me_

_Walk on by_

_If you're embarrassed right now, then please remember_

_I think we'd make great magic together!"_

The flowers stopped their screeching abruptly and the Hall was filled with a deafening silence. I could just make out the others' reactions to my hastily made-up rhyme—Harry, Ron and Hermione were thunderstruck, and Draco looked quite close to tears of sheer disbelief.

Then someone laughed; an awkward, nervous tittering began to rise until normal volume resumed. I saw a guffawing Alphard slap Riddle on the back, who smiled mechanically in return. Smiling slightly, I turned to the ashen faced Draco next to me. "Some admirers, huh?"

"I think I need to lie down," he muttered, standing up. As I watched him leave, I glanced again at Riddle.

Oh, was he _furious._

To be fair, it was a rather—ahem—_not subtle_ way of getting his attention…but ever since the day in the Library, he'd been avoiding me. I'd made up my mind in the Hospital Wing not to give up, to continue with what was so obviously a suicide mission, but…

Suddenly he was gone from the halls, the corridors. It was a rarity to even see him at the Slytherin table these days. And even in our Potions classes…I could never get him to speak to me, to break past his usual façade of politeness. I think the both of us were surprised that I even _wanted_ to continue what I'd started in the Library.

So I'd resorted to some drastic measures. I'd spent hours in front of the entrance to the Slytherin dormitory much to Harry and Ron's stupefaction, just waiting for him to show up, which he never did. I'd practically stalked him to all his classes, missing several of my own in the process—until a passing teacher noticed and gave me detention for a week for 'disgraceful conduct'. My arse it was disgraceful. _She_ wasn't dying of some stupid incurable illness—maybe from how far her wand was shoved up her—

Anyway, nothing worked. Obviously, I wasn't getting much better. So I'd resorted to _this_—a singing telegram I'd purchased from my last Hogsmeade trip. And a crappy rhyme.

He'd _better_ respond to this one. Cost me ten freakin' Galleons.

The sudden increase in volume of my surroundings alerted me of the start of my next class, so hastily finishing the last of my breakfast, left the table.

He _had_ to respond.

* * *

He burst into the Room, the door slamming shut with a boom behind him. Magic swirled around him in a thick, poisonous aura as, with a flick of his wrist, he sent one of the nearby desks crashing into the opposite wall. He noted bitterly that the Room had arranged itself so that it was now supplied with many large and breakable objects, sensing his destructive mood.

Riddle's lip curled and immediately everything burst into flame. When only cinders and ash remained, he extinguished the fire, although he was no less as incensed as before. Oh yes, he had been angry in the past—with his followers, with Dumbledore—but only for brief, violent periods of time, the length of which was just sufficient enough to exact his revenge. Ordinarily, he even would have referred to himself as _patient_; he had been fully prepared to bear all of that stupid little girl's attempts to persuade him to save her worthless skin until the perfect time to dispose of her—

But that stupid, nonsensical and _humiliating_ rhyme was the last straw. Riddle grinned as he imagined his hands around her neck, choking, suffocating; he laughed insanely out loud as he imagined her final, gasping breaths coming from her mouth that he had often wished he could stitch shut for her—

Behind him, something rustled; Riddle whirled around and fired a curse. It knocked off a sizable chunk of wall as it missed its target and then he was faced with conflicting emotions of annoyance and relief that it had.

"You!" he said, livid.

"Yes, me," His handsome döppelganger said calmly, brushing off the rubble from his shoulders. "And you, technically."

Riddle watched him with a sort of furious fascination. He had briefly met his future self a number of times, and he noticed again how cockily unruffled he was, unperturbed by his past self's anger. Secure in that he had already experienced whatever Riddle was going through now, and amused at his antics as if he were simply reliving a fond memory…Riddle grit his teeth.

"What do you think you're doing?" he spat. "Letting out the Basilisk, ordering around _my _followers—"  
"Never mind that," future-Riddle said carelessly and Riddle's fingers twitched on his wand, "If I'm correct—and I always am—my arrival now should be sometime after a certain incident in the Great Hall…?"

Riddle saw red at the reminder.

"_That girl…_" he hissed in Parseltongue, "_…I _will_ tear her into pieces with my bare hands."_

"_Is that so?_" Future-Riddle said coldly. "_Under that fool Dumbledore's overly crooked nose?_"

"_I can make it seem like an accident,_" he muttered, beginning to pace around the room. "_Lure her into the Forbidden Forest and make it seem as if she were attacked by a wild animal…frame another student for a fit of sudden madness…_"

"_Don't be ridiculous. He'd suspect you immediately._"

"_He is not Headmaster yet!_" He hissed in fury at his older counterpart.

"_You are letting your emotions dominate reason!_" His future self said sharply. "_Have you even thought about what she is offering?_"

Riddle stared at him, eyes widening in livid shock. "_You are not…considering…?_"

"_Considering is not an option,_" he responded curtly. "_You will do it._"

"_Are you—"_

"_I am merely informing you. How long would it have taken to create your first Horcrux otherwise? We hypothesized at least a few years—"_

"_Your point?_" Riddle snarled.

His future self looked at him steadily. "_I have just created my second."_

He was silent then, his eyes darting between each of the eyes in his own face, as if to catch one of them lying.

"_Besides_," future-Riddle said in a softer tone, "_what better way to kill her? To let her become dependent on you as the source of her antidote…and then…_"

" 'The Lord giveth', yes?" Riddle responded dryly in English.

"Very good," the other boy drawled and Riddle felt his irritation spike at the other's condescending tone.

"Is that all you came here for, then?" he sneered. "To persuade me to accept her offer?"

His future self watched him expressionlessly. "Have I succeeded?"

Riddle privately thought not, and was annoyed when the other began to laugh, the sound ringing in the cavernous Room.

"You forget that I know what you're thinking," His future-counterpart tapped his temple and smiled. "Experience. And you will change your mind.

"One more thing," he added, as one hand held poised over the doorknob, ready to leave. "…and this will be one of the more _strenuous _tasks…try not to curse her."

Riddle burst out laughing.

"Her wand…" the other boy continued thoughtfully, ignoring him, "...it's not natural."

Riddle stopped to ask him what he meant by that, but he was already gone.

* * *

"It's not even close to Halloween yet, though," I said to Harry as we watched one of the Charms teachers levitate an enormous pumpkin to decorate the stairs leading into the Great Hall. Today was one of those rare times when all five of us were together outside of our weekly meetings in the Room of Requirement. Because of my earlier panic about my corpus defessum, I hadn't seen them very often. And today would have been exceptionally enjoyable, had it not been for the guilt that was slowly gnawing at my intestines like a demented parasite.

"It's in two weeks," he pointed out. Some of the other students were also helping with the decorations, pottering around with more of the giant pumpkins, or attempting to bewitch the knights of armor to cackle sinisterly as people walked past them.

"I've never celebrated Halloween before," I said wistfully.

"Really?" Ron said amazed, from his seat on the stone steps next to Hermione. "Why not?"

"I'm not sure. It always seemed like a morbid holiday."

"That's what my mum thinks as well," Ron said. "It's not, really. I reckon it's just another excuse to have a bit of a get together, dress up and stuff. I remember Fred and George—they're my brothers—you couldn't get within a foot of them without at least five Dungbombs going off…"

"It has a _fascinating_ history, though," Hermione said earnestly, having finally looked up from the heavy textbook in her lap.

"Go on then," Ron said, amused. "Can't help yourself, can you?"

Hermione sniffed. "It's supposed to celebrate the end of summer, in the medieval Irish and Scottish calendars. People thought that otherworldly beings—demons and such—were able to enter into our world more easily during this time; that's why wearing costumes or masks is such a big part of tradition. It was supposed to confuse them, and protect the people from possession.

"Of course," she said, "it's all nonsense. I've never heard of anything of the sort happening before. Not even wizards really believe it—I suppose they just do all of this for fun."

A coughing fit overtook me then and Draco's eyes narrowed.

"Are you ill?" Harry asked.

"Yes, are you _ill_, Ari?" Draco repeated coldly. Ah, he sounded angry. I hadn't told him anything about the return of my illness…

"No, it's fine. Oh," I said suddenly, gesturing at the students in front of us. "Look. Riddle's helping."

Their heads swiveled in the direction I was pointing. Riddle was speaking to one of the professors as some of the students nearby levitated a giant, heavy brass chandelier into the air. As he moved around the floor his eyes met mine by accident; I flushed and looked away.

"We haven't had a Knights meeting in a while," Harry said, watching him.

_He's distracted_, was the first thought that came to mind. My eye settled on the wobbling form of the chandelier as I tried to get my thoughts straight. It was becoming very hard to focus on the one thing…

_Was he thinking about my offer?_ One of the students helping to levitate the brass chandelier yelled out as they slipped on a stray miniature pumpkin; the chandelier began to shake in earnest now and then I was on my feet, eyes wide with horror as they traced the path from the gigantic ornament to the tall, dark-haired Slytherin boy directly beneath it. I shouted, "Riddle!"

A few students looked my way and though Riddle's shoulders twitched slightly in irritation, he didn't even glance in my direction.

"What are you doing?" Harry said, alarmed.

Next thing I knew I was running, tripping down the stairs.

"Ari!"

The chandelier jolted downwards, several people screamed as pieces of crystal fell and shattered on the floor and Riddle's head jerked upwards—

I collided into him, sending us both to the ground just as the brass ornament fell, with an almighty CRASH into the floor, where Riddle had been standing barely a breath earlier.

Shards of glass showered on us, nicking the backs of my hands as I weakly tried to shield myself, lying flat on my back on the floor. My breath had left my lungs in a great _whoosh_—running into Riddle felt like running into a brick wall. How was that even possible? He was so _skinny. _If he had been any old Muggle boy, I reckon I would've been able to take him.

_Wheeze. Wheeze. _My chest hurt.

"Is your…stupid pride…worth your life…you idiot?" I gasped out to the Slytherin boy next to me, also covered with shards of crystal.

"You _dare_—" he said furiously, in a rare display of emotion when his words were drowned out by the approach of Professor Slughorn.

"Oh ho ho ho!" he cried, his face blanching at the sight of two of his favored students on the ground. "Someone, get these two to the Hospital Wing—"

"I'm fine, sir," Riddle and I interrupted at the same time, with the same words. There was a short, awkward pause before he continued smoothly, "It was a simply a minor accident. None of us were hurt."

"Speak for yourself," I muttered, thinking of the backs of my hands.

"Severely," Riddle amended.

Slughorn looked flustered. "But—the chandelier! A great thing like that, surely there must be some damage—"

"…which is easily repaired," Riddle finished, getting to his feet and, with a flick of his wand, sent the chandelier to zoom upwards into its rightful place and the floor to return to its formerly pristine state before our very eyes. Slughorn began to laugh.

"Oh ho ho ho!" he cried, still chuckling. "What cheek! Ah Mr Riddle, you'll do great things someday…and you," he swiveled around to face me, his pale eyes twinkling. "…that was a _very_ heroic thing you did, Miss de Lioncourt!"

"What?" I said stupidly.

"Saving a fellow classmate from grave injury! Ah, don't look so shocked! In fact," he turned to Riddle, "you may even owe your life to this fine young lady here!"

"No!" At Slughorn's stunned expression, I hastily said, "I mean—no he doesn't, I didn't—I didn't mean to save—" _**I should have let him die.**_

"Ah, modesty!" Slughorn chuckled, waving a plump finger in front of my face. "Such a very rare, overlooked trait…"

Helplessly, I looked around for the others. "I didn't mean—"

"He's right." I stared at the calm, pleasant looking young man in front of me. Riddle smiled. "You are too modest, Miss de Lioncourt."

And then he bowed slightly and brought my hand to his lips.

"Thank you," he murmured and he straightened up. Addressing Slughorn in a more formal tone, he said, "I'm afraid I have other things to attend to, unless you have further need of me, Professor…?"

"No," Slughorn said, looking rather dazed by his abrupt gesture himself. "No, thank you Tom…"

"You know," Slughorn whispered conspirationally to me as I continued to stare disbelievingly at his retreating figure, "I think that boy may have taken a liking to you!"

* * *

"What do you think you're _doing_?"

I was face to face with Draco in the Room of the Requirement. The others were watching us solemnly.

My mouth trembled. "I didn't _do anything_—not on purpose—I just—"

"It could have _ended_!" Draco yelled. "We could have gone _back_, gone _home_ if you hadn't decided you were too much of a saint to just _let him die!_"

"I couldn't just stand there!" I argued furiously. "This isn't my fault! He wasn't _doing_ anything Draco, he was just _there_, underneath all of that—"

"Maybe he was supposed to be there," Harry said quietly.

"Don't _say_ that!" I snarled at him, my hands shaking.

Draco growled, "Ari, just because you think you need him doesn't mean—"

"Shut up! Shut up!" I roared at him. How _dare_ he bring that up? He had no…no _right_ to bring up something that _private_, he…

"Alright!" Harry bellowed. "Enough, stop it! I mean it, Draco," he snapped as the blonde opened his mouth to retort. "Ari…what are you trying to say?"

I racked my brains, trying to rationalize my actions. "Look…don't you think if he was supposed to have been offed by a piece of furniture, it would have happened already?"

"Yeah, well we changed things when we arrived," Ron pointed out.

I felt a ripple of anger. "Fine! Then how about this? Could any of _you_ have lived with yourself—_letting_ someone die a horrible, violent death in front of you? Could you have lived with yourself—knowing that you just—just _stood_ there and _watched_ as they—they…" The others shifted in their places uncomfortably—except Draco.

"Yes," he said coldly. "I would do what needs to be done."

A silence hung between all of us.

"Class will start soon," Hermione said in a shaky voice. "We should leave now or…"

"Yeah," Harry said finally. "Yeah, Hermione's right. Look, we'll just take a break, okay? Just…mull things over for a while."

Draco turned on his heel and stormed out of the Room.

A few beats later, I followed suit.

* * *

"_I've changed my mind,_" Riddle said to himself; the one leaning against the wall with his arms crossed across from him. He knew he would be there, because his future counterpart had known that he had wanted him there.

The other Riddle smirked. "_I told you—"_

A sudden movement, a burst of light and then his future self was nursing a deep cut on his cheek, looking faintly surprised. "_Counterproductive._"

"I feel _much_ better now, though," Riddle hissed, eyes lighting up dangerously. "_I will not owe my life to vermin!_"

The other spared him an expressionless glance; a trail of blood ran down his face like a tear.

"_Then don't._"

* * *

It was raining.

I hated rainy days. I wanted spring, I wanted sunshine. Warmth. Not this.

I stared at the tremors running through my hands. Over time, I'd noticed that I'd begun to appreciate each quiver, each tiny quake that ran through my fingers—all the different intensities of alternating pain and numbness that passed through my body.

Of course, this was all borne from someone with a lot of spare time and very little to do with it.

Sweat beaded on my now nearly constantly feverish forehead and I shifted in the open window of the stone pillars in which I had taken to spending my time. I was watching the students make their way to Hogsmeade from my isolated spot. I spotted the familiar trio of heads—inky black, fiery red and curly brown.

They were avoiding me. I was sure of it. Even Draco…I'd been sitting by myself in a lot of my classes lately.

Bitterly, I watched them leave the courtyard.

I wish I didn't feel so alone. I mean…I should have been used to this, for crying out loud, what with all the days I spent by myself at the orphanage, or at school…

Lethargically, I swung my legs off the stone ledge. They buckled slightly as they touched the ground and I leaned, panting, into the wall to steady myself.

Worse. I was getting worse.

I made my slow, arthritic path down the steps that led into the courtyard. As much as I hated the rain, I didn't want to stay trapped in the castle.

Bracing myself for the irritating pinpricks of water that would assault me as soon as I stepped out of cover, I closed my eyes, pulling halfheartedly at the cloak around my shoulders.

And then I opened them again.

Thousands of droplets of water hovered in mid air before me, just inches away from my—very dry— clothes. The weak sunlight shone through them, making them glitter like tiny diamonds. Hesitantly, I reached out to touch one; it rolled off my fingertip, falling gracefully to the floor.

It was beautiful.

My heart—so sluggish only minutes earlier—began to pound forcefully in my chest. With an excruciating slowness, I turned to face the young man watching me from the top of the stone steps.

Grey eyes never leaving mine, he walked towards me, his footsteps echoing in the unnatural silence of the courtyard. Then he was only inches away.

"You'll do it?" I whispered hoarsely.

A long pause; then the stiff, marble-like figure broke to give a curt nod. I felt incredibly faint.

"Do not presume I owe anything to you, de Lioncourt." His voice was harsh.

"I—" I broke off, coughing heavily into the sleeve of my robes. Wiping the blood from my mouth, I said, "I don't."

Riddle stared at me and I met his gaze tiredly. "You know of the Room of Come-and-Go."

"Yes."

"You'll be there at midnight." I nodded. "If you are even a minute late…"

His words hung in the air. I nodded again.

Riddle's eyes bored into my own before he abruptly turned on his heel, cloak billowing out as he made his exit. Shortly afterwards, the raindrops began to move again, drenching me in seconds. Normal background noise resumed.

It seemed something good had come from all of this after all.

* * *

"C'mon de Lioncourt… get yourself together," I muttered as I stood in front of the familiar patch of wall, knees knocking, stomach twisted in knots. I was ten minutes early, but knowing Riddle…

I took one last breath. _I need the place where Tom Marvolo Riddle is…_

A door handle appeared and I turned it, slipping quietly into the room.

I'd seen this room before, I thought as I looked around. Large, and littered with long wooden desks…a number of strange apparatus on their surfaces, and in the desk closest to where I stood, a medium sized black cauldron…I remembered it from the time I'd spoken to future-Riddle, the night of Slughorn's party.

"_Riddle…how did I convince you?"_

"_You made an offer that was…very, very hard to turn down."_

Surely this meant I was on the right track.

"Close the door."

I jumped, and then did what Riddle asked. Like me, he was still in his day clothes despite the late hour, although his were considerably less rumpled. While my eyes were heavily bagged and dull from sleeplessness, his were sharp and alert, and fierce. I sighed.

"So…" I began awkwardly, walking up to the desk over which he currently presided, "…er…how d'you wanna get started? I mean, I don't know much about healing potions, but I reckon we could start with—"

"Sit down." I complied at once, taking a seat in the large, wooden chair directly in front of his desk. Immediately, glowing green chains erupted from the wood, binding my arms and legs to the chair. I yelped, "What the f—"

Riddle smiled. "A precautionary measure."

"For _what_?"

He shushed me. "Now…before we begin, Ariadne, you and I have…ah, some _business_ to discuss first." He sat down behind the desk, a pleasant look on his face. "As I'm sure you can imagine, I've become very curious about you."

"Ditto," I spat.

"So," he ignored me, "I would like you to answer a few questions of mine, before we do anything."

"What makes you think I'll do that?"

His expression grew dark and then abruptly lightened. He laughed. And then in a flash, he was next to me, tipping the tasteless contents of a vial into my protesting mouth.

"Swallow," he ordered, one hand across my mouth and nose, and the other holding up my chin. His nails cut into my skin. After a few seconds, I bitterly complied.

"Good girl," he let go and I gasped for air. Furious, I tried to bite his hand as it left my throat, but he was too quick. It felt like lead weights suddenly weighed on my tongue; although my head was still perfectly clear, it was with a keening fear that I realized I could no longer control my words.

"Veritaserum," Riddle said, resuming his seat behind the desk. "I assume you know what it is…?"

"Yes."

"I thought so." He sounded amused. "Now…where to start…perhaps something simple first, yes?" He interlocked his long fingers together. "Why did you come to Hogwarts?"

"I came here because I didn't have anything else left back home." The words that flew out relieved me; I hadn't said anything incriminating…

"Because of the war?"

"N-no."

"Why?"

"I-I—bec—" He watched me struggle with myself. It was like trying to stop an enormous boulder from rolling down a steep hill, attempting to lie despite the Veritaserum—futile and inevitable. "_Because I didn't have anything else back home!" _

Riddle stared at me. My fear turned into horror at his next question. "You and your brother…you are not truly related, no?"

A series of muttered curse words and grunts followed my monotone, "No."

"Why did you say you were?"

"F-For protection. His name is…too recognizable. Dumbledore…he suggested it."

His brow furrowed; he looked frustrated. "Why does he help you?"

"Mhh—war."

His eyes narrowed. With a dark expression, he leaned forward, his next words an unforgiving whisper in the silence of the Room. "How do you know about my Horcruxes?"

"I read about it."

"Where?"

"Back home."

His was visibly angrier now. I wondered why he hadn't attacked yet. I wouldn't have been able to defend myself, trussed up as I was. "How do you know about the Twin Lockets?"

"I read about it." I winced and tensed for a curse to come heading my way—but to my intense disbelief, he didn't, despite the obvious scarlet in his eyes.

"Why did you think I could help you?"

I would have answered this question truthfully without the Veritaserum. "The day Grindelwald attacked Hogsmeade, I lost myself in the Forest. Two of his men—of his army—found me. They were about to kill me when you appeared. You saved my life. You gave me a potion before you vanished into thin air. At first I didn't understand…but then I saw you again, at the castle. You were different. And then I understood."

The whitening of the skin around his eyes, the flare of his nostrils all indicated his shock. When he didn't say anything I spoke again.

"I need your help. I can't do this by myself. I can help you too."

"What do you know of immortality?" he sneered.

"Everything," I whispered.

We both fell silent because we both knew that I was still telling the truth—at least, in the sense that Riddle imagined it. After an eternity, Riddle finally spoke.

"We'll begin next week," he said coldly. "I have other things to attend to. However," he raised a finger, "there is one final thing."

When he pulled out the silver dagger from the folds of his robes, my eyes widened to the size of dinner plates and I began to struggle frantically against my binds.

-_a flash of silver—_

_**No! No! No! No! No! No!**_

I screamed as the tip of the dagger formed a small, shallow cut into my forearm and Riddle collected it in a small glass vial which he held up to the light. Panting hard, I stared wild eyed at him who met my gaze with an unreadable expression.

"Divulge anything spoken in this Room to anyone other than myself," he warned, pocketing the vial, "and you will wish you had never been born."

Abruptly, the chains retracted back into the chair, I clutched at my bleeding arm, small gasps still catching in my throat. Riddle spared me one last glance before I heard the door close behind him.

I fainted.

* * *

_The sound of Saturday morning cartoons played on the television. Though I considered myself too old for them these days, there was nothing else on and I was too lazy to reach the remote lying inches out of my reach, sprawled ungracefully on our red couch as I was._

_The doorbell rang. Thinking my mother would get it, I let out a shout of laughter as the cartoon cat was outsmarted by the mouse again. Dumb cat._

_The doorbell rang again. _

"_Mum, the door!" I yelled out, flopping a leg vaguely in its direction._

"_Aria, get the door please, honey, mum's a bit busy—"Groaning, I stood up, hearing my joints pop lethargically. I stalked unenthusiastically to the door._

"_**How have you been feeling lately?"**_

"_Hello." I looked up at the man in the doorway. He was dressed oddly, especially for the warm season. "Who are you?"_

"_**I would do what needs to be done."**_

_Why was he staring at me like that?_

"_**I can't do this without you."**_

I opened my eyes. Daylight bled in through the hangings of my four poster bed. I sat up stiffly.

Still tired. What day was it? Thursday. Been awhile since saw Riddle last.

Get dressed. Brush teeth. Go down for breakfast.

Chew. Swallow. And repeat.

Can't think anymore. So tired. Hurts.

Herbology.

"Late, Miss de Lioncourt. Five points from Gryffindor."

Draco ignoring me. Prat. Pick up trowel. Hands shake. Trowel drops. Pick it up again.

So tired.

Worried. Riddle again tonight. Worried. Can't think.

Cough. Cough. Cough.

Bell rings. Next lesson. Lunch. Next lesson. Girl's bathroom. So tired.

Dinner. Draco again.

Dormitory. Stay dressed. Wait. Wait.

Moving. _I need the place where Riddle is…_

I put a hand to my mouth, closing my eyes as my throat muscles clenched in the familiar pattern. The doorknob appeared and stumbled inside, moving quickly past a frozen Riddle; I grabbed the large basin that promptly materialized out of nowhere and began to retch into it.

Quickly they became dry heaves; there wasn't anything left in my stomach. I realized I was kneeling on the floor and panting, I flicked my gaze back to Riddle. He was watching me expressionlessly. I noticed the pile of books stacked high on the desk beside him.

"What's that?" I rasped.

"Research," he responded after a short pause.

"Right." Forcing myself upright, I staggered across the pitching and heaving floor towards the main desk. I muttered something incomprehensible as I stumbled into the chair I had been chained to previously; finally, and with a tremendous effort, I collapsed into the one that appeared beside it.

Riddle stared at me, one still placed between the pages of a book. "Ariadne…"

"Muh?"

His mouth moved, but I didn't understand the words. I gave a reply that I didn't quite understand either and his expression morphed from mildly surprised to wary. He held up his hand.

"How many fingers?"

"….what fingers?"

An awkward silence passed. Then Riddle said quietly, "Ariadne, if you want me to help you, you have to wake up."

Minutes passed. "I brought this," I slurred finally, drawing out the empty vial that had previously contained the potion future-Riddle had given me in the Forest. "Dunno how you made it. Saved my life."

A line formed between his brows and he took it from me. Leaning against the back of my chair, I watched him through hooded eyes. I closed them for a moment…

"Ariadne."

I opened them again. Riddle held a flask of something towards me. "Drink this."

"Whatzit?"

He gave an impatient sigh. "It will help."

Eyeing him with a sort of drunken suspicion, I took the flask, sniffed it and knocked it back. It didn't _taste_ poisonous…

A weird, crackling sensation ran through me; it felt like all my hair was standing on end. The fog lifted from my mind and despite the continued ache in my bones, I felt mostly conscious for the first time in days.

"What did you give me?" I asked the dark-haired boy in front of me. He leaned against the desk, folding his arms across his chest.

"Essence of Jerusalem berry," he said calmly.

"But—" I stopped myself in time. He raised an eyebrow but continued speaking.

"It's a powerful stimulator, but it doesn't do anything for pain. I want you to be coherent when I speak to you."

"Okay."

"Corpus defessum is a degenerative disease," he said in a brisk, business-like tone. "From what I've read, it appears to attack the peripheral nervous system first—that is, the nerves that extend from the spinal cord. Obviously this leads to several somatic consequences such as…"

"Er…my hands shake, like I can't control them." I racked my brains. "Sometimes they go numb. Ah…well, upchucking's an obvious one…

"There are times where it feels like—like I'm drowning. Just for a moment. And then it's gone, and it's like waking up from a bad dream…but it's not. It's real."

"There is no mention of any of the causes of the disease," Riddle continued smoothly. "However, I have my own theories.

"Tell me, Ariadne…what is your relationship with Time?"

My mouth became very dry all of a sudden. "What are you talking about?"

"I wonder sometimes," Riddle said coldly. "…exactly _how _badly do you want to survive, Ariadne?"

Enough to betray my friends. Enough to help turn a sixteen year old boy into the most powerful tyrant the world has ever known.

But to tell him that I was a time traveler…that was another matter entirely. I'd be putting the others at definite risk, if I hadn't already done so, not just myself. Perhaps, if there was something else…

"My wand," I said.

Riddle frowned. "What?"

"Its core is Time. A Strand of Time." Anxiously, I watched his reaction; his brow was furrowed and he appeared to be thinking intensely about something. "What are you thinking?"

"The day in the Library," he replied, still frowning. I winced and unconsciously held a hand to my now fully healed face. "Why did the First Locket fail?"

I hadn't even thought about it since. "I dunno."

"I attacked you."

"I got hurt," I recalled.

"You dropped your wand."

"I picked it up…" I suddenly remembered the ripping noise that had sounded when my fingers had closed around the wood. Could my wand have restarted Time? One glance at Riddle and I knew he was thinking the same thing. "…I don't understand. And what does this have to do with my corpus?"

"Have you been on any lengthy trips lately?" Riddle switched subjects abruptly, making me hesitate.

"The trip to Hogwarts." Fifty-three years back in time.

"Something mentally or physically exhausting…combined with your connection to the Time core of your wand…ah. I see."

"What?"

His eyes snapped back to mine. "Your body is chronologically unstable."

"Er…"

Riddle began to pace, his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped, looking over his shoulder back at me. "Think of it as…sped up ageing. Your body is deteriorating, much like it would naturally…but an elevated rate. "

Ageing? What did that mean? I stared at my hands, imagining them pruning before my eyes. Would my hair fall out, my back become stooped and twisted beyond repair?

And then…

"Then I'd die," I realized. It sounded awful. To have to go through all of that…was there such a thing as a fate worse than death, with death as a side anyway?

"I suggest we better start working then," Riddle said in clipped tones. I stared at him. He obviously wished I…well, I couldn't blame him. To be blackmailed into giving someone a few more years of life…huh, at least it wasn't _immortality_ I was asking for…

"Isn't it funny," I said quietly. "We both want the same thing, don't we? In a way…"

"The same thing?" He repeated, his tone dangerous. "You have no _idea_ what I want."

I watched him begin fiddling with various potions and vials, turning his back to me as he did so. The rest of the night passed in silence.

* * *

"Ari!"

I turned around, eyebrows arching high in surprise at the sight of Hermione jogging down the sunlight-flooded corridor towards me.

"Hi," she said, a little uncomfortably. "Er…the House Quidditch trials are on today. I was just going down there, would you like to come?"

"Yeah, definitely!" We began walking together towards the direction of the Quidditch Pitch, a place I hadn't even thought about since my arrival at Hogwarts. Quidditch! How could I have possibly forgotten about that? "Are Ron and Harry trying out?"

"Obviously." Hermione rolled her eyes. "_Boys…_"

"And…" I trailed off, but Hermione caught on.

"He is too."

I didn't say anything, instead taking out a few of the Jerusalem berries in my pocket and popping them into my mouth. We hadn't come close to developing a potion anything like the one future-Riddle had given me, but the Riddle of the present had put me on a daily diet of potions that doped me up like nobody's business and Jerusalem berries to keep me coherent.

I was nowhere near healed, but I was slightly more comfortable than I had been before. However, this also gave me a lot of time to think about Draco…

It's not that I missed him or anything…but it _was_ getting to be awfully lonely, lately. I hadn't been talking very much to Harry, Ron or Hermione either (hence my surprise at seeing her today), but I was closer to Draco than I was to them. Or so I'd thought.

"Is there something going on between you two?" Hermione asked me timidly and I choked on one of the berries I was eating.

Thumping myself on the chest and gasping, I replied, "What? No! No way! Why would you even think that, Hermione?"

She flushed. "Never mind, then."

I shook my head disbelievingly. "Besides, we'd make a crap couple. I mean, he's been avoiding me like the damned plague ever since that stupid incident with the chandelier…"

"Ari," Hermione said slowly, "it's you that's been avoiding us."

I gaped at her and she continued, "Every time we see you in the corridors, you start walking in the opposite direction…you don't even look at us in class…"

"It's you that won't look at me!"

"Ari, be sensible. Why would we avoid you?"

"But…" I was starting to feel a bit silly, "…you all looked so shocked in the Room…"

"Of course we did!" Hermione said exasperatedly. "A dirty great chandelier nearly did you in! Did you really expect we'd be pleased? Ari," she said sternly, "we may have been a bit confused about why you went through all that trouble to save him, but we were never seriously angry at you for doing it."

"Oh." Now I really felt stupid.

"Besides, now that I think about it, that was probably the best thing you could have done at the time," Hermione caught my surprised expression and clarified, "We still don't know where the Second Locket is, do we?"

"Yeah," I said smiling, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. "Yeah, you're right!"

Soon we found ourselves walking the grassy path around the elevated seats that surrounded the pitch and we settled ourselves at the front, watching the players zoom across the perfect blue sky. I gaped at them as they flew around, passing balls to each other so quickly the movements were blurs. Meanwhile, Hermione gave a sigh and pulled a textbook out of her bag.

After a while, the players flew down and I saw Ron and Harry, looking strange in their silver and green Quidditch robes but muddy and grinning, approach us.

"Hey," I said shyly. "You guys were amazing up there."

"Thanks," Harry said, looking slightly wary. An awkward silence fell. I cleared my throat, readying myself for an apology.

"Listen, er…I've been a little out of it lately. So…"

"Don't mention it," said Harry, grinning. I grinned back.

"So, what happened?" Hermione asked.

"Of course Harry got Seeker down pat, you should've seen the look on Black's face," Ron said almost disgustedly. "I'd be surprised if he didn't pop the question soon, the way he was staring at you. I got Chaser…"

The rest of the gorgeous Friday afternoon passed in relative relaxation, watching the other players go through their trials and cheering on the ones we liked best. I fought Ron's half joking suggestion to teach me how to fly a broom tooth and nail until at last they gave up and then we took a lazy stroll around the grounds, skipping pebbles across the Black Lake. The others laughed at my terrified reaction when a giant tentacle rose up to take one of the pebbles from my pile but weren't as amused when it descended back down into the water with a splash, rendering them soaking wet in seconds. I talked to Ron a lot about his brothers—I had been an only child, and I'd always wanted to know what having a big family was like—and he'd answered my questions with a reel of stories that kept me doubled up with laughter for hours afterwards. It was the perfect way to end weeks upon weeks of built up stress. Almost.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked as I stood up from our grassy spot.

I shrugged. "I'm a bit tired. I'll see you at dinner!"

Later, I found myself in front of the stretch of wall I was rapidly becoming acquainted with and let myself into the Room, which had changed once again—it was now completely bare save for two armchairs in its center, separated by a small coffee table upon which sat a tray of chocolate cupcakes. It was nearing the time when I'd asked Riddle to meet me, so I took the seat furthest from the door and munched on the cakes to quell my nerves.

When he did arrive, I asked him politely to sit down. He did so stiffly.

"Okay," I said. "Let's talk Horcruxes."

**A/N: Ooh…**

**I hoped you all liked it! I had a lot of fun trying to figure out the dialogue for this story. Normally for talky-talky scenes I write the dialogue out first and then add in actions and thoughts later to direct the flow of the conversation.**

**My thoughts on this chapter:**

**Poor Draco, he had his moments of glory last chapter and now he's being pushed to the background again. Ari's also getting a bit indulgent with her self-pity, isn't she?**

**I sort of wanted to convey Ari's perception of time as short, sharp and fleeting as a result of her corpus, so you'll notice that line breaks pop up all over the place in this chapter. But things should run smoother soon...**

**Finally, in regards to Riddle: I always imagined him as a very vicious, bestial person when he's not putting on shows for other people; this interpretation was taken mainly from certain scenes in the books like the Chamber scene in the CoS and in Slughorn's memory in the HBP. So I feel that when he interacts with his future self, he'll always be more 'relaxed' (in his own way) that an any other point in the story, because, well...he's essentially talking to himself.**

**Looking back on the books again, I'm surprised at just how much Riddle likes to laugh...**

**Anyway, please tell me what you think!**


	15. Intermission

**Disclaimer: **Hilarious.

**A/N: **Ah, it's been awhile. I'm in my final year of the IB programme and my final exams are coming up very soon, so I apologize for the long wait but I hope you understand.

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 14: Intermission**

"_Okay," I said. "Let's talk Horcruxes."_

I stared up at the ceiling of the Hospital wing. It was very late—perhaps just past midnight, judging by the chimes of the clocktower—and yet I was wide awake, having been woken rather viciously by the intense, dry burn in my throat.

Earlier, Madame Laroche had informed me that I had landed myself in my favorite section of Hogwarts because some potion apparently didn't agree with me, leaving me with painful raw patches on the inside of my mouth and throat. She'd warned me that the damage could've been much worse and that I was lucky that someone was there to force me to cough up the rest of it before it had gone any further. Then she'd force fed me this thick, stinky cream that eased the pain but made my eyes sting and left a glass of water on the nightstand next to me.

Now, as I fumbled blindly in the darkness for the glass, I felt the tips of my fingers catch on something, followed by the sound of crystal smashing into the marble floor. I groaned.

"_Reparo_," someone muttered and I quickly sat up.

"Ridduh?" I half mouthed, half grunted through my swollen throat.

"Here," I heard his voice closer to my bed and guessed him to be sitting in the chair beside the bed.

"Wadduh."

"I'm sorry?"

"WADDUH."

There was a pause. Then silently, he used his wand to pour a thin stream of water into the repaired glass and handed it to me.

"Thanyoo."

"The potion was a failure."

"No shik," I said. "Try aguhn."

Riddle exhaled impatiently. "Shall we start from the very beginning then? Or perhaps from where we left off, if you would like to explain to me how we can break into the teachers' private stores for the fifth time this month without detection?"

"Dunn haff to," I held out a piece of paper to him. "Here."

He frowned and read my hastily scribbled notes. When he had finished, his eyes flicked up sharply to my own.

"Bored," I said, understanding his unspoken question.

He looked back down, scanning the paper intently. I grunted by way of asking his opinion.

"Well, it's not out of the question," he said finally. "A few adjustments will have to be made, however. I don't know where you got the idea of _crushing _the Sopophorus bean, rather than cutting it…"

I scribbled on another piece of scrap paper and handed it to him. _Trust me._

He read it and gave me a long look.

I scribbled again. _Or not._

As he was about to leave, I grunted to get his attention and passed him another note. _When I met your future self the night of Slughorn's party, he told me that in his present I wasn't doing well. I think we've reached that moment in your timeline. I haven't lost hope, though._

"Good," Riddle said. "Or else this would be a waste of my time."

"Ridduh!"

He turned again with some exasperation.

I held up my empty glass. "Wadduh."

* * *

We'd been working together for just over a fortnight now. Each day, he would use the First Locket to stop Time and then we would continue our work in the Room of Requirement. My Corpus potion by day, his Horcruxes by night. I served as the willing guinea pig for several of our test potions, which often led me to slight to moderate injury, or uncomfortable side effects. Riddle could normally fix them, but once or twice I'd ended up at the Hospital Wing, claiming the questionable excuse of the 'stomach bug' to my friends. This uneasy workload combined with the mountains upon mountains of homework left undone made me constantly tired and I developed the unfortunate habit of falling asleep in class. Usually Draco would kick me awake, although he still refused to speak to me, twat that he was,

I'd like to say that my partnership with Riddle grew more comfortable over time, but then again…it was Riddle.

"You will retrieve the first set," Riddle commanded, referring to the lengthy parchment between us that listed the various ingredients we needed. We were in the Library and he'd stopped Time again so that we could look through the books without being disturbed. Unfortunately, this meant that we were once again surrounded by the living statues of frozen students. "Asphodel, goosegrass, and so on… these are all ingredients that can be found in the teachers' private stores. Do you think you can procure them?"

I chewed on the end of my quill. "No problem."

He leveled me with a stare. "Then I suggest tomorrow afternoon. The teachers will have a staff meeting and Slughorn has a regrettable tendency to forget to seal the room when he's in a hurry."

The next day, I stormed into the Room of Requirement, my hair and clothes singed and in some places still burning.

"Did you get them?" Riddle said lazily, not even looking up from the parchment in front of him.

"You think?" I said angrily, removing the bag hidden under my sweater and tossing it onto the desk. "Why didn't you tell me about the booby traps?"

"I wanted to see what you would do," he said calmly. "Obviously, I cannot work with someone as incompetent as, let's say, Mulciber…"

"The first one nearly took half my hair off!" I said furiously.

He smiled thinly. "How did you get past them?"

I sat down and kneaded my forehead with my knuckles. "I threw the caretaker's cat in," I muttered, "to set off the rest of the alarms."

"Inelegant," Riddle acknowledged, "but resourceful."

"So did I pass the test?" I asked sarcastically.

He threw me another one of his indecipherable looks. "We'll see."

On the other hand, Riddle seemed to be in a better mood these days. At least, he wasn't trying to kill me, which was always a plus in my book. In many ways, it was just like our Potions classes—we researched what we needed to do and he explained it to me four or five times until I finally understood it. I knew I needed him more than he needed me, and he knew it too.

And so we both knew that I wasn't telling him everything about his Horcruxes.

* * *

"So… how am I doing in the future?" The girl in the golden dress asked awkwardly.

"Badly," Riddle said, watching the shock register on her face. "I don't know how much longer you'll last."

She twisted her fingers together. "You…really don't mince words, do you?"

"Drink the potion. Slughorn will be looking for you at the party."

"How do you know I'm from that time?

He eyed her the poofy yellow garment that she wore with distaste. "You're still wearing that ridiculous dress."

"Well _I _like it…alright, I'm gone." She threw him a dirty look as she held up the flask to her lips. "Riddle, this better not kill me…"

"I assure you, it won't." He smiled thinly. "Immediately."

The grin disappeared from the girl's face, much to his satisfaction, and she cleared her throat. "I'll see you…around then."

He turned away and heard the ripping sound as she was removed from her occupied space. Minutes later, the door to the Come-and-Go Room opened and the same girl entered, although this one was dressed in the school uniform and moved more slowly. She was obviously tired as she made her way to one of the long benches of the room and sat down, resting her head in her hands.

Riddle felt a sudden surge of annoyance. "You neglected to mention the color of the potion."

She looked up, and there were deep circles under her eyes that matched his. "Sorry, I forgot."

"Don't waste my time, Ariadne."

"Right."

He regarded her for a moment and stepped over, setting a flask of the potion the cauldron in front of her. "Drink."

She held up the glass. "To my good health and your long life, Riddle."

"Something on your mind, Ariadne?" he drawled.

She didn't reply for a moment as she traced absent patterns on the palm of her right hand. It was only when Riddle looked closer that he noticed that she was tracing a pair of jagged white scars cut deep into her palm and the insides of her fingers, something that he had never noticed before. He narrowed his eyes. "What is that?"

Her eyes flicked downwards and she placed both hands flat on the table. "I was buttering a bread roll and my hand slipped. Did you get the starthistle and spleen?"

He noted the abrupt change in topic but didn't say anything. "Yes, this morning."

Ariadne visibly brightened. "Oh, really? That's fantastic. I thought it'd be tricky to find."

"If you knew the Hogwarts staff half as well as I do, Ariadne, then you'd know that there was nothing tricky about it." He saw her quizzical look and elaborated. "Professor Glenborough happens to use it in her skin cream."

Her eyebrows lifted impishly and she grinned. Professor Glenborough was the young and attractive Arithmancy teacher who was widely rumored around the school to favor Riddle particularly amongst her students. "And I suppose you just stumbled across the bit of information, eh?"

_Did she just wink at me?_ Riddle wondered. "You suppose."

She yawned, and stretched out her arms behind her head. "I hope you didn't go rifling through her lingerie drawers searching for it, Riddle—"

"Of course not," he said, affronted.

"I don't think she'd mind, on second thought."

"Neither do I," he said darkly. "Is everyone as vulgar as you where you come from?"

"Germany, you mean?"

"You don't have much of an accent," he said flatly.

She considered that for a moment. "All our books were in British."

Riddle's mouth twitched and he turned back to the cauldron full of potion. He felt her eyes on his back but allowed a short silence to pass before she spoke.

"You don't ask questions as much," she observed quietly. "Is there a reason?"

"I suppose I've lost interest," he said dryly. Ariadne raised her eyebrows and he smirked, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned to face her. "Let's just say I know my questions will be answered eventually."

She opened her mouth to say something—but frowned, seeming to be distracted. Abruptly she jumped as if electrified, her fingers flexing convulsively over her wand. Her eyes rolled slightly in her head and then Riddle watched intently as she snapped out of her strange trance almost as abruptly, although pale and breathless.

"What is it?" he said.

She stared at him as though startled to see him still standing there. "Nothing…it's nothing."

Later, when Riddle had long left the Room, Ari clenched the wood of her wand, still warm from its frightening electricity from earlier. Like before, when had first successfully used magic in the Grimmauld Place what felt like had been lifetimes ago, she'd been hit by a wave of déjà vu so strong it made her knees buckle and her breath to shorten. She'd heard voices—no, just one. And she knew that she had heard it before but yet, even as she yelled out in frustration, she could not for the life of her remember from _when_ she had heard it.

And in this world, wasn't that the most important thing?

"_Sit down. I will answer all your questions…eventually._"

**A/N: Short, but sweet? Hope you enjoyed! We are rapidly approaching the beginning of the third and final arc of the story in the next chapter. Thanks for reading and as always, don't forget to review!**


	16. Shotgun

**Disclaimer: **Don't own.

**A/N: **This and the next chapters are the favorite parts of my story. I've been planning them for a while and I'm glad that I've finally reached the point where I can write all their scenes now.

It would help to read the previous chapters again, though. The timelines are all melding together now.

And damn FFnet for eating all of my line breaks.

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 15: Shotgun**

"No kidding, Riddle…"

"I'm not," he deadpanned as we stepped over a fallen tree; I cursed as my cloak caught on one of the branches. He stopped when we reached a clearing and surveyed the area. "This should be the place."

I looked around; in the pitch black darkness illuminated only by Riddle's wand I couldn't see much difference between all the rest of the Forbidden Forest and where we were now.

"Are you sure?" I asked dubiously.

He threw me a look.

"Okay then."

"Search the trees," he said, stopping to examine a stray branch. "The Bluenests should be around there. Remember," he added sternly, "a single crack in one of the eggs—"

"—and kaboom, yeah, yeah." He'd told me many times before this expedition for No. 17 on our list of combined ingredients, each time with a pointed look in my direction. "No problem."

I tripped over something—probably something stupid, like an air—and Riddle pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

"Just find it."

A good length of time later, my eyes were getting tired from straining themselves in the dark. "Did you find them yet?" I called out over my shoulder.

"Not yet," he replied, sounding a good distance away.

"Can we call it a night then? This place is making me nervous."

"May I remind you that you were the one who insisted on accompanying me here, Ariadne," he said, sounding faintly annoyed. "Leave if you have to."

Irritated, I sat down at the base of a particularly tall tree and watched his investigations resentfully. I'd only wanted to come because I hadn't been particularly keen on the idea of him working on his Horcruxes without me.

I yawned at the sky and then choked as something fell into my mouth. Disgusted, I spat out what looked like to be a twig onto my hand—and then gave a shout of fright as it grew legs and scuttled away. I looked up warily in case any more would fall down at any moment and then my eyes spotted something that caught my interest. I stood up and squinted at the branches. "Riddle, what color did you say the Bluenests were?"

A sigh. "What do you think, Ariadne?"

"Come over here for a minute, then." There was the crunching of dead leaves underfoot as he went over to stand next to me. I pointed my wandlight upwards, where high amongst the branches was a flash of brilliant azure. "Is that it?"

"It would seem so," he answered, peering through the gap in the branches.

"Here, then, I'll get it."

"You?" he said skeptically.

"Yeah—it's too high up for Wingardium Leviosa and besides," I began taking off my cloak, "I'm good at this sort of thing."

I threw the garment on one of the low branches and surveyed the tree for a while. "Step back a bit," I warned, and after a moment's disbelief, he did as I asked.

Rocking back and forth on my toes to give myself more momentum, I spring straight up into the air and caught hold of one of the branches. With some effort, I pulled myself up so that I was straddling it and beamed at Riddle on the ground. "Impressed?"

"Hardly," he answered, but he seemed amused.

"Just keep your light on me," I said, readying myself for another leap, "and don't look up, I'm wearing a skirt."

I heard him snort and mutter under his breath as I landed on another branch. I wobbled unsteadily for a minute and dug my nails into the tree's bark to keep my balance.

"What is it?" Riddle said impatiently.

"Haven't done this in a while," I answered shakily. I peered downwards. "It's a lot higher up here than I remembered."

"Don't tell me you're frightened now, Ariadne," he said mockingly and cautiously, I began to climb towards the nest.

"'Course not. I've been doing this since I was a kid."

"Had many opportunities to make Horcruxes, did you?" He said dryly.

"Funny." I hauled myself up another branch and stopped for a moment, slightly out of breath. I called down, "Can you move your light?"

The light shifted in response and I was able to see a clearer path through the branches. "Thanks."

I resumed climbing and after a few minutes, I finally reached the branch with the Bluenest. I stood up, keeping my arms out to the side for balance as I walked towards the end of it. "Here, I've got it."

"Careful—"

"Yeah, yeah." I crouched down slowly and picked out two of the bright blue eggs we needed, removed my sweater and then bundled them safely inside. "See? No prob—oh, dear."

I heard Riddle sigh.

Frozen uncomfortably in a half crouching, half standing position I kept my eyes fixed on the glowing pair of yellow eyes that ha d appeared suddenly in the darkness in front of me.

_Maybe if I move slowly it won't notice me,_ I thought and slid backwards an inch. Immediately, an ear-splitting growl filled the air and I swore loudly, scuttling backwards.

"What was that?" Riddle's voice sounded alarmed.

"Nothing," I said in a very high pitched voice. A strange hissing noise alerted me to the creature sliding forward into the light of Riddle's wand and my jaw dropped open. At first glance, it appeared to be an ordinary dog, although admittedly larger and more terrifying than any other dog I'd previously seen, except for the second thrashing head growing out of its neck that snapped and foamed at the other without surcease. And then when I thought things couldn't get any worse I noticed its tail hovering above its body—and the fact that its tail was a snake. It growled and then I also noticed its very long and very sharp teeth.

"Nice doggy," I breathed and the snake-tail reared its head and hissed at me.

"Ariadne, whatever you're doing, you had better stop," Riddle warned.

_If I try climbing down with that thing following me… I'm a goner. If I fall, the eggs might break and I'd be incinerated! What to do…_

"Riddle, get ready."

"What?"

Holding the bundled sweater protectively close to my chest, I swore, cried a little, and rolled off the branch.

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AARRRRRRGGGGHHHHHH—"

The wind whipped against my face and made my eyes stream as I plummeted downwards towards the Forest floor. I heard the confused whine of the enormous dog above and I yelled and screwed my eyes shut as the ground flew towards me.

"-AAAAAAAAAAAA—oof!" Riddle and I collapsed to the ground and sobbing, I threw my arms around him. "Oh thankyouthankyouthankyouthan kyou—"

"Ariadne, if you do not remove yourself, _so help me_—"

Hurriedly I scrambled off of him and unwrapped the bundle in my arms. By some miracle they were still intact and I shouted in relief and triumph.

"By all means, draw more monsters towards us," Riddle snarled and I shut up. He sat up, looking less pristine than normal and winced, holding his ribs.

"We've got it," I said, "the last ingredients for your Horcruxes. We're almost there."

888

"We're almost done," Riddle said one sweltering afternoon in the Room of Requirement, when we were working on my potion.

"You don't say," I said wiping beads from my forehead. I had stripped down to my oxford shirt and skirt long ago, leaving the rest of my clothes in a jumble on the floor and after a few stubborn hours, Riddle had done the same. "That's fantastic."

"I just need something else."

"Shoot."

I glanced at him and then froze when I saw him pick up the silver knife on the table and twirl in his fingers. He smiled. "Blood."

I winced. "A lot of it?"

"Don't tempt me," Riddle said. "A few drops should suffice."

I winced again. "Can't you use what you took when you interrogated me?"

"I'm saving that for a rainy day," he replied dryly. He nodded his head at the desk. "Sit."

I sat on the desk, tucking my skirt under my legs self consciously and Riddle stood in front of me. I unwilling held out my left hand.

He met my eyes. "Right hand."

Even more unwillingly, I held out my right hand. Riddle took it, his skin cool against my own and opened it. He lightly traced the scars there with a long finger. "Where did you get these?"

"I've had them for as long as I can remember," I said quietly, after a moment. "The day my parents died…I woke up and my hand was bleeding, but I can't remember from what."

"How did they die?" Riddle asked. I noted that the usual 'I'm sorry' did not come my way.

"They were murdered. By a bad man."

"Your Boggart," he said and it wasn't a question.

I sighed. "You're too clever for your own good, Riddle."

"So they tell me," he muttered.

"Dumbledore, you mean."

He looked at me. "Very astute, Ariadne."

"He doesn't trust you," I said.

Almost instinctively, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a slight snarl. "Why should I care what the old fool thinks?" he sneered. "Why should I fear someone who will be long dead while I, Lord Voldemort, will live forever?"

I said nothing. Gradually, the red dimmed from his eyes and when he looked at me again, they were grey once more.

"Did I frighten you?" he said.

"You're certainly making me question my decisions," I said quietly. "But I owe you too much not to continue."

"Gryffindors." He smirked and pressed the point of the knife against my palm.

"Careful."

There was a small flash of pain and he added my blood to the cauldron. It hissed violently and its color darkened from a pale silver to almost pitch-black. I thought about our conversation; that had been the first time he had ever mentioned his other name to me. It had seemed almost like an unnoticed slip. He must have already begun thinking of himself as 'Lord Voldemort' very early in his teenage years…

He handed me a flask and I downed it without question.

"How do you feel?" he said, watching me closely as I set it down.

I shook my head; a bucket materialized next to me and I threw up neatly into it.

"Perhaps it's not as complete as I thought," Riddle said.

"Nope," I replied between retches, "don't think so."

"Something must be missing," he said thoughtfully.

As I threw up in the bucket again, I hoped fervently that whatever it was, it tasted better than this crap.

888

Riddle was half sitting, half lying down on his bed. There was a book in his hands but he wasn't reading it; his mind was too preoccupied to fulfil even his favorite pastime.

Ariadne was going to die, very soon. She said that the pain was subsiding, that she was only tired but Riddle had done enough research on degenerative diseases similar to her corpus defessum to know that as the illness progressed, it began to focus its attack on the victim's strength until they had none left. Then, unable to support itself, the immune system failed. Then the respiratory system and then finally the heart would give out. Corpus defessum was a vicious affliction... and on her in particular.

For the fifth time that evening alone, he considered leaving her to die. Again, he decided against it. Although her idiot friends apparently did not seem to notice, the fool Dumbledore seemed to suspect something going on between her and himself. If she were to die, or even disappear now…

And then there was the matter of his Horcruxes. He had to admit that Ariadne had been far more informative than he would have expected. He was so _close._

But first, her corpus.

He closed his eyes. He had an idea of what ingredients, what materials he needed to finish the potion, but _obtaining_ them was something else…

He frowned as a memory stirred.

_"What is it, Adarius?" he said indifferently, twirling his wand between his fingers._

_"Ah-ah…" Rookwood struggled to compose himself. He cleared his throat. "I-It's about the…er…materials you required me to get." Here Riddle's head swiveled slowly in his direction to stare at him. "I-I couldn't—it's proving very difficult to…"_

_"Adarius…" Riddle said slowly. "What are you blathering on about?"_

He groaned and left the room.

Riddle found Rookwood sitting by the fire in the Slytherin common room, surrounded by his seemingly unfinished homework.

"Rookwood," Riddle said.

He jumped violently in his chair; his inkpot turned over onto his essay and he swore. "Yeah—er—yes my Lord?"

"About the materials I asked you to procure for me. You gave them to me, yes?"

Rookwood paled, remembering his Cruciatus.

"Where did you get them?"

"Er—well, you told me to get them from the cellar at the Three Broomsticks."

"I see," Riddle said.

Hesitantly, Rookwood asked, "Er—are you—um—well, my Lord?"

"Perfectly so," Riddle said without looking at him. "Goodnight, Rookwood."

Rookwood stared crestfallen at his retreating figure.

Riddle sighed as he left the common room. He had performed the Cruciatus curse on the Slytherin when he had informed him that he had given the ingredients to his Future self, although Rookwood had known it at the time. Although he did not regret it, he did feel the loss of wasted effort, especially seeing as he now had to collect them from Rookwood's past self.

Of course, after ordering his Past self to get them in the first place.

Riddle removed the Locket around his neck and turned it in his palm. There was the dizzying sensation of falling and then suddenly he was in the Hogwarts Library. He found Rookwood in one of the less visited aisles bulling a terrified Gryffindor first year and he rolled his eyes.

"Rookwood," Riddle said.

Sneering, the other boy looked up. "What—" he stopped, his face paling and Riddle couldn't help but slightly enjoy the reaction for the second time. The Gryffindor student ran off and Rookwood coughed nervously. "Er, yes my Lord?"

"I have a task for you." He didn't wait for his acquiescence before continuing, "When is the next Hogsmeade day?"

Rookwood looked bewildered. "Er—this Friday."

"I want you to go down into the cellar of the Three Broomsticks and procure a few items for me. You had better write this down."

Rookwood hastily grabbed some spare parchment and began to scribble notes as Riddle dictated them. Riddle watched in satisfaction; this is why he chose Rookwood over all the rest; he followed his orders without question. "But won't they notice a whole lot of their stuff is missing?"

"Leave that to me," Riddle said lazily. "Get Mulciber to come with you if you can't carry it all. Are you finished?" He said, nodding at his notes.

"Er—" Rookwood glanced down at the parchment but by the time he looked up, Riddle was already gone.

Back in the present Slytherin common room, the Heir of Slytherin sighed, massaging his temples. He had to create a distraction and he already had an idea of how we would do it. It disgusted him, but it certainly cleared up a lot of unresolved questions. How could he argue with the past anyway?

He turned the Locket in his hand once more and vanished.

888

"…do you understand it now, Ari?" Hermione asked me as we sat, poring over textbooks in the Library.

"Yeah, sure. No. No, not really."

"Well," she said, sighing, "these charms are fairly advanced. I don't think we're even supposed to learn the theory until late next year."

"They're interesting, though, aren't they?" I said halfheartedly as I flipped through the pages of the textbook in front of me. I felt slightly guilty for using Hermione to help me understand some of the theory behind the spells used for Riddle's Horcruxes, but there was no way I could understand it by myself.

"Yes, they're fascinating," Hermione said, frowning. "It's strange, though, I—"

I began to make notes on one of the paragraphs. "What? Whoa," I had looked up to see her frozen mid gesture. I glanced around; she wasn't the only one. Then there was the sound of approaching footsteps and I turned towards the noise. "Riddle? We didn't have a meeting today, did we?"

"I have something for you," he said, sitting down at our table.

"You shouldn't have!" I mocked a gasp.

His face was completely deadpan. "I know." He produced a vial from his pocket and set it on the table in front of me. I looked at it for a long time and then back at him, all humor gone from my face. Riddle nodded, answering my silent question.

Carefully, I picked it up. I uncorked it and held it up to my lips. Seconds later I was coughing, the vial rolling from my hand as fire ran through my limbs, burning its way into my bones. When it finally subsided, it was as if years of tiredness had been lifted from me; millennia of aches and pains. I felt…_new._

Riddle studied my face intently and when I met his gaze, he nodded in satisfaction. "It works, then." He pocketed the now empty vial and stood up. "I'll make more tonight; I'll see you in the Room then."

I stared at him as he left. I owed him my life. I had to say something.

I didn't.

"—never thought that you were much of a reader, Ari," Hermione finished and then stopped. She peered closer at me. "Did you do something to your hair?"

I touched it self consciously; it was certainly smoother and shinier than it was minutes ago. "I've been eating a lot of eggs lately."

"Er…"

I glanced back at the entrance again.

888

I made contented, orgasmic noises as I sank into my hot bath. Breathing in the heavy, perfumed air I played with the bubble taps—although the girl's bathrooms were nowhere near as grand as the Prefects', the cut it fairly close in my book.

I felt like celebrating. After months of stress and working into the wee hours of the night I finally, _finally_ had all the Time in the world to just…relax. I wasn't dying anymore. I could afford to lose track of the hours again.

Tonight, I would take my final dose of my corpus potion and that was it; I would be cured and this whole experience would seem like a bad dream. Thanks to Riddle.

Lazily pointing my wand at the tap to shut it off, I submerged my head under the water.

It must have taken him a while, I thought dreamily. If there was anyone in the world who could find a cure for an incurable disease, of course it would be him. I wonder how he finished it…I wonder how he finished my potion…

In my hand, my wand twitched.

And then I was coughing, spluttering and shivering as the bath disappeared and I was skidding along the wooden floor of a vaguely familiar room. Gasping for breath, I looked wildly around; the surroundings taking awhile to register in my disorientation.

I was in the Three Broomsticks.

The sheer bizarreness of the realization almost made me laugh but when I heard footsteps coming up from the cellar, my humor quickly turned into panic.

I was in the Three Broomsticks…bare-ass naked.

I mouthed the foulest and most improbably string of curses I knew and ducked down behind the counter as Madam Rosmerta emerged from the stairs, humming cheerily to herself as she began to sweep the floor of the pub. Meanwhile my mind whirled with the possibilities—how did I get here? Maybe I was hallucinating, maybe something funky in the bubble bath…or perhaps…

I glanced at my wand.

The bell at the entrance rang and I ducked down lower, grabbing one of the nearby dishcloths to cover myself. I peeked over the counter at the people who entered.

"We don't open till later," Madame Rosmerta said firmly. "You'll have to come back—"

"_Imperio!_"

I stifled my gasp and watched with wide eyes as Madame Rosmerta's expression turned dreamy and the broom clattered from her hand.

"Good girl," Rookwood said.

"Where did you learn that?" said the other person, a younger unfamiliar Slytherin boy.

"I have my sources," Rookwood replied smugly. "C'mon, we don't have much time."

They headed down into the cellar and I swore again under my breath. Now of all times would be the best time to leave—but I doubted I'd fare much better outside dressed—or undressed—as I was.

"Won't they have noticed all this stuff we've tooked?" Their voices were loud enough to be eard throught he floorboards.

"Nah," said Rookwood. "It's taken care of."

"Howd'yoo mean?"

"I was informed that there'd be a distraction," he responded in the same superior tone. "No one will be concerned by a few missing ingredients by the time today's over."

"What sort of distraction?" The other said interestedly.

"That's—none of your business, Crabbe" Rookwood said after a moment's pause.

"Why's I'm even here anyways? I thought you got Mulciber to go with you last time."

"That sod left me behind in the cellar."

Crabbe sniggered and the sounds of boxes shifting resumed.

What were they doing there? What was _I_ doing _here_? I glared at my wand. It had to be it that brought me here—my corpus wasn't potent enough to bring me through time anymore. _Was_ I back in time?

I couldn't get my head around it. And, in the name of everything _holy_ was it cold.

Grimacing, I tried to snag another dishcloth dangling off the edge of the counter. I didn't notice the glass mug sitting on it and another voracious stream of curses left my mouth as it fell to the floor with an almighty crash.

I heard the voices in the cellar stop and then the thundering of footsteps up the stairs as the two boys returned.

"What was that?" Crabbe said.

"Dunno," responded Rookwood. "Go check the counter."

"You ain't my Keeper, go check it yourself."

There was a loud thumping sound and a grunt of pain.

"Orright, orright, I'll do it…"

Alarmed, I shrank back into the back of the counter as I heard the sound of his approaching footsteps. I fought to keep a cool head—I could take these two. Steal their clothes and run…

His footsteps grew closer and I raised my wand.

"Wait!"

I held my breath.

"Someone's coming!" Rookwood hissed.

"Then let's go—"

"We can't be spotted! Get back into the cellar!" The sounds of rushed footsteps and then an irritated sigh. "Hang on, I gotta get _her_ back—wipe the counter of something, will you?"

I wondered who he was talking to until Madame Rosmerta was suddenly in front of me, vacant eyed and slack jawed. I let out a muffled yell but she didn't appear to take notice of me even as she bent down, tugged the dishcloth which I clutched protectively over my chest from me and began to hypnotically polish the wooden counter. I stared at her with my mouth open.

The entrance bell rang again.

"Hello? Ah Rosmerta, love, pour us a pint will you?"

Robotically she began to do as the customer asked and when she was finished, returned to wiping the counter. The noise swelled as more and more people entered the shop and I sighed despairingly into my arms. It looked like I had no choice but to wait until my wand decided to bring me back.

Urgh, this breeze did _not_ feel good.

"That's Madame Rosmerta," I heard a very familiar voice say. "The owner of the Three Broomsticks…blimey, she looks exactly the same…"

And then I remembered the situation through different eyes.

"_Nothing," Draco snapped. "Are we going to go inside or what?"_

…_There was a large counter ahead, covered with a variety of strange and rather poisonous looking drinks. A curvy woman with wavy blonde hair and a pretty face was wiping the top of the counter with a rather dazed expression on her face and I watched her curiously._

"_That's Madame Rosmerta," said Harry sounding rather baffled himself. "The owner of the Three Broomsticks...blimey, she looks exactly the same…"_

I gasped, loudly and audibly. I couldn't help myself; I peeked over the counter.

There we were. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco…and me. I t was surreal seeing my face backward but it helped lessen the strangeness of the situation, made it seem like I was just seeing someone that looked very much like me—although more sickly and with shorter hair—rather than my actual doppelganger.

I watched us leave (after what looked like my sixth Butterbeer); out of the corner of my eye I saw Rookwood and Crabbe emerge from their hiding place and make for the entrance at the same time. With rising trepidation, I saw myself crash into the former.

"Oh, I'm so sorry—here," I heard myself say in a voice that sounded completely alien to me as I bent to pick up their fallen items.

"I don't need your help, Mudblood," Rookwood snarled.

Horrified, I watched the scene unfold. I saw and I remembered

I knew what was going to happen next.

"What are you staring at?"

"Nothing…"

_I knew what was going to happen next._

I watched the confrontation between Harry and Rookwood; watched Crabbe slink away in the background.

I couldn't do anything.

Hermione's scream, as frightening as I remembered it. "_Harry!"_

_I couldn't do anything!_

There was the sound of fireworks; a flash of bright, vivid green. And then the screaming started.

"No!" I yelled and my wand shuddered violently in my grip.

I emerged out of the water, spluttering and gasping for air. What had I…I had just seen…

_Riddle had made Rookwood get the last ingredients. He had caused the "distraction" that Rookwood had been talking about…he had—_

Anger, hot and sick, filled me. I glanced at the wallclock; I had been gone for nearly three hours. I scrambled out of the tub and dressed without drying myself and then I ran for the Room of Requirement.

He wasn't there yet. I sat down on the red couch in the center of the room and tried to take a calming breath but it came out in short, ragged gasps instead. I stood up and began to pace around the room.

The effects of the previous dose was fading; I could feel myself getting weak again but I stubbornly stayed standing, my hands balled into fists at my sides.

The door opened and my head snapped towards it, watching Riddle as he entered. He looked tired, and there were deep circles underneath his normally sharp grey eyes.

"Ariadne," he said, sounding faintly surprised. "You're early." He frowned. "Why are you all wet?"

"Where were you?" I said.

He seemed to recognized the hostility in my voice and he stopped, studying me, taking in my rigid posture. "I was finishing your final dose," he said coolly. "As you should already know by now."

"Right. Because you tell me everything, don't you?" I hissed.

His eyes glowed red. "If you have anything to say to me Ariadne, I suggest you think _very _carefully before doing so."

"I know where you got the last ingredients!" I shouted at him. "I know that you let Grindelwald's men into Hogsmeade, _that day_! I know that you are responsible for the deaths of the students—"

"How do you know this?" He said sharply.

"I was there!' I growled. "In the Three Broomsticks. I saw everything."

I could almost see the gears in his head whirring as he stared at me, his eyes hard and calculating. "Well it is none of your concern anymore, Ariadne," he said coldly. "After all, it is in the past, is it not? And believe me, I am not in the mood for your incoherent babble tonight."

I called him a word I had only ever heard around my orphanage before and his eyes reddened with anger.

"Drink your potion," he hissed, "before I kill you myself."

"No," I spat defiantly.

His face like thunder, Riddle took one menacing step towards me, his wand drawn but mine was already out.

"Tempus," I sneered, "over phoenix feather. Or have you forgotten?"

He bared his teeth just slightly, raising his wand but then seemed to think the better of it and turned away. Furiously, I stowed my wand back inside my robes and then almost immediately regretted it as, as premeditated and graceful as a snake striking at its prey, Riddle swiveled around and leapt at me.

We landed on the couch; I struggled as he held me roughly down, moving so that he was straddling me, my arms pinned down by his knees and one of his hands around my throat. I tried to kick out but he snarled ferally and tightened his grip, making me choke and gasp for air. He hissed something seemingly unintentionally in Parseltongue at me and with his other hand removed the vial of my potion from his robes, ripping off the cork with his teeth.

In stunned shock, I watched him tip its contents down his own throat. "Riddle," I choked out, "what are you—"

He silenced me by pressing his mouth hard against mine and my mind went completely blank. Then, I recognized the bittersweet taste of my potion as he forced the liquid out of his mouth into my own and my senses returned to me as I fought against his weight, but to not avail. He responded by pushing down with bruising force that didn't let up even as I bit down on him, hard enough o taste blood.

It was too late. I felt the telltale thrumming in my limbs and knew that the final dose had already worked its effect. He felt it when I gave up and, panting, he sat up, his eyes never leaving mine as he wiped the blood from his mouth with his sleeve.

"Get off me," I said. After a long moment, he did as I asked and I pushed myself upright, not looking at him as I tested the new strength in my bones. I opened and closed my hands; I curled it into a fist.

Then I let that sucker fly at his face.

I was gratified to see that I was now strong enough to send him reeling back into the couch.

"You deserved that," I said.

"Perhaps," he replied, wincing as he gingerly fixed his bloodied nose with a wave of his wand, "but you are alive. And for that, you owe me."

I stood up; I stared at him sprawled elegantly against the dark red velvet, his dark hair disheveled, the imprints of my teeth from where I bit him scarlet against his pale skin.

"You'll have your first Horcrux by the end of the week," I said coldly and then I left.

888

After that night, I didn't see Riddle for days—partly because now that I was cured we were no longer required to work on my potion and partly because I was, well, avoiding him.

It wasn't just that he practically mouth raped me on the couch—although that was admittedly a large part—but that as the day of the creation of his first Horcrux grew steadily closer, the more uneasy I became.

The 'set up' was ready. But there was still the question of what "splitting your soul" entailed and that was the murder of another human being.

I wouldn't back down from our deal, but I felt sick at the thought of fulfilling this condition. Who were supposed to choose? _Did _we get a choice? Did I get a choice? These weren't cattle we were picking to send to slaughter, but _people._

I brought up the subject to Riddle only once, on our final meeting before I partially fulfilled my end of the deal.

"Whose death are you planning on using?" I said abruptly.

Having been casually drinking tea on the red velvet couch as he scanned the Daily Prophet, Riddle became very still, all semblance of ease gone. He didn't answer.

I walked over to where he was sitting and stood over him. "I need to know."

"My mother's," he said coldly.

I exhaled slowly. He watched me as I pondered this. I sat down next to him and took the newspaper out of his hands.

"Weather's clear tomorrow and the day after," I said. "Your pick."

"The day after," he said, after a moment's thought.

"Okay."

Perhaps I should have thought about it more, the idea of using his mother as the death for his Horcrux. I remembered that she had died giving birth to him, but I wasn't certain that her death could be used in _this_ way…but still, death was death, and if there was any sort of way possible to hold off the _real _murders…

The next day, I was headed to the bathroom when I slammed into someone, hard.

"Watch where you're going—"

"Why don't you shove your—oh." I was face to face with Draco for the first time in weeks. I bent down and retrieved my books from the floor from where they had spilled out of my bag. "Hi, Draco."

"Ari," he said coolly but he hovered uncertainly until I stood up with my books in my arms. "You look…better."

"Yeah," I said guiltily. "I, uh, got some rest."

His eyes narrowed. "You aren't still throwing yourself after that snake—"

"No," I said honestly. "Not anymore."

His expression softened and he shifted uncomfortably.

"Listen, if you still need help… I mean, I know I haven't exactly been…even though it _was_ your fault—"

"It's fine," I said, equally uncomfortable. "I think my corpus, you know…kind of like acne, it just clears up on its own, I guess."

"…"

"…"

"Well," he said after a minute's silence, "I should go…I have a project with Mulhorn…"

"Yeah, I—I gotta pee."

"…"

"…"

"Bye, Ari," he said.

"Yeah, see you—Draco?" I called out at his retreating figure. He turned around. "Um. I missed you, brother."

His expression softened lightly. "I didn't. See you in Potions, you buffoon."

Amused, I watched him flip his hair and strut, Malfoy-like in the other direction. Feeling much happier than I had been in weeks, I strolled into the girl's bathroom.

I looked into the mirror, something that I had made my habit in the past few days. It was amazing to see the difference in such a short period of time. My face seemed fuller and had more color; my eyes—which I had vainly always thought were my best feature, wide and dark as they were—somehow more alert. Even my teeth seemed nicer.

I sighed and began to tie up my hair which was getting long enough to be a bother in this windy weather. I felt faintly homesick as I used a silk ribbon instead of my old hair elastics and after I glanced in the mirror one more time, I left for Advanced Potions.

"Don't be late next time, Miss de Lioncourt," Slughorn said, sternly wagging his finger at me after I muttered my apology. I moved to my desk but stopped when I saw that the other seat was empty.

"Mr Riddle hasn't turned up yet," Slughorn said, noticing me. "Probably busy with his Prefect duties, I wouldn't be surprised…"

"Ari," Harry called out and I went over to join him and Draco.

"Hiya," I said.

He frowned. "You haven't seen Riddle today, have you?"

"No."

"There hasn't been a Knights meeting in weeks," he said looking deeply troubled. "I think he's up to something."

"Relax, Potter," Draco yawned, prodding halfheartedly at his cauldron and causing it to spark ominously. "He's probably off killing Muggles or something."

"Don't joke about that," I said uneasily. "And it's Evans."

"Whatever."

"It's just strange," Harry said, frowning. "Not too long ago, he was setting his Basilisk on the students and now, nothing. Why's he so quiet?"

"I wouldn't worry about it," I said. But even as I said it I couldn't help but wonder about his sudden absence. I was sure that it wasn't anything serious; I knew that by tooth and by nail, Riddle would be there tomorrow.

Yet as the day passed I didn't even catch a glimpse of him in the halls nor his usual classes. I don't even know why I noticed, but something about his disappearance inexplicably irked me. He wasn't at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, nor his usual corner in the Library.

As a last resort, I went into the Room of Requirement.

"Riddle?" I called as I entered. Silence replied. Warily, I looked around; the Room had transformed so that it was filled with long workbenches again. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the large cauldron set on top of the front desk in the middle row. It was still bubbling.

Cautiously, I dipped my pinky finger into it and tasted its contents; I spat it out and swore loudly. I whirled around and ran for the door.

On cue, I was struck by a pain so excruciating that I fell to my knees, my wand clattering to the floor. I screamed in agony—this was so much more than any hurt I had experienced before. Everything was red; my body and my mind felt like it was being ripped slowly, lovingly into halves.

I felt like I was being charred alive.

I screamed and screamed until I didn't recognize the sound of my own voice, until I didn't even know if I was making any sound anymore because there was nothing but the agony of _death…_

And then it stopped.

Gasping and crying, I pulled myself clumsily upright.

Everything looked whitewashed and unreal and there was a faint ringing noise in my ears. I looked down to see my wand, still clattering and shaking on the floor and I grasped it.

An image flashed into my mind.

"Riddle," I whispered and then I took off running.

Something was wrong with my eyes. There were lines—red lines—everywhere I ran, even wrapped around the students I passed, and around me, bind my hands and my wand together and spilling and intercrossing everywhere. I couldn't feel them, but I could _see _them. Lines…or threads.

I ran out of the castle and sprinted into the Forbidden Forest where the lines abruptly vanished. I ran deep into the Forest until I couldn't distinguish the sky from the tops of the trees and strange, silent predators turned towards me as I passed them.

I finally burst into the clearing that we had agreed on, wildly searching. There he was.

I stumbled to his unconscious body in the center of the clearing. Despite the ashen grey pallor of his skin, his face seemed peaceful and his chest rose and fell rhythmically; he looked for all the world as if he were merely sleeping.

Surrounded by the charred remains of the forest floor, it was a strange sight to see.

I collapsed next to him.

"You complete arse," I said tiredly. "Why did you try and do it without me?"

I searched around him for his diary, but to no avail. Then, something silver and glimmering caught my eye and gently, I prised it from his stone cold hand, wincing when I saw the scar burned there.

I wiped the blood from the First Locket.

**A/N: Review, please. Hope you enjoyed.**


	17. First

**Disclaimer: **I don't own.

**A/N:** My God, I've fallen in love with this story all over again.

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**Pretending to Live**

**Chapter 16: First**

_I wiped the blood from the First Locket._

"Oh," I said, staring at it. It thrummed in my hand. He had been trying to make it into his first Horcrux...but it hadn't worked, very obviously so. In my vague, disconnected state I took a minute or two pondering why that was before I realized.

The First Locket was in my hand. Ravenclaw's Locket- the whole reason we had been sent here in the first place, the only thing that could prevent the deaths of billions of people- was literally _in my hands_.

I could leave right now with it and Riddle couldn't do anything about it.

I stood up, the Locket clenched in my fist. I was already cured. I didn't need him anymore. Why was I still here?

I turned and began to run, as fast as I could into the safety of the trees, towards the castle. I had to get to Draco and the others...use the Locket to get back to 1997...

_And Riddle?_

He can take care of himself, I told myself firmly. He's Lord Voldemort, after all...

_Not yet_, the small voice in the back of my mind whispered. _Right now he's only a teenage boy- a teenage boy who has been very badly injured and who has been left in the Forest to die._

I stopped running.

"Don't you dare," I hissed. "I know what he's going to become! That's more than enough reason to leave! He deserves to _die_!"

_You saved from the chandelier. Why are you changing your mind now?_

"He killed those students!" I yelled into the empty air. "He let Grindelwald's army into Hogsmeade!"

_To get what he knew would save your life._

Frustrated, I clapped my hands over my ears, as if to muffle this cursed voice that was sounding more dangerously reasonable to me. I felt like I was going crazy.

"He only wants me to make his Horcruxes," I said.

_You know he made them alone, in the real timeline. He saved you._

"It's too late for him," I whispered.

_**"It's never too late."**_

My head whipped towards the way I came. I began to run.

"Tom!" I yelled, fighting through the underbrush. It was getting so dark now that I was afraid that I wouldn't find the place until I stumbled into the clearing for the second time.

"Riddle, c'mon," I said, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. "Riddle, you _arse_-wake up. Wake up. WAKE UP!"

Furious, I stood up and kicked his side with as much force as I could muster, but he didn't stir, even as I heard something snap. I don't know who I was most angry at- him or me.

"Don't tell me I have to carry you all the way to the bloody castle," I spat. He didn't reply.

I howled at the sky and collapsed to my knees, breathless. I stayed like that for a while.

I realized that I was still holding onto the Locket and slowly I held it up in front of my eyes. It caught the last rays of the sun and reflected back a hundred tones of silver.

Numbly, I unclasped it and put it around his neck. His eyelids flickered, but he still didn't move.

I pulled the Marauder's Map from my robes and scanned it for anyone nearby the Forest that might see us. Then I stood up and pointed my wand at Riddle.

_"Wingardium Leviosa."_

888

_I need the place where we can rest. I need the place where we can rest. I need the place where we can rest._

A door formed in the wall and I turned its handle. Letting Riddle go in front of me, I shut the door and willed it to lock. There was a groan from behind me and startled, I accidentally cut off the Levitating charm and Riddle fell to the floor with a dull thunk.

I swore and rushed over to him. He was unconscious again.

"Sorry," I muttered, crouching down next to him. I put one of his arms around my shoulders and grunted softly as I strained to lift him onto the large white bed in the center of the room.

"Easy there," I muttered. His hair tickled my neck as I eased him slowly into a lying down position.

I collapsed into the armchair next to the bed. I was so tired. It was a lot to handle in one day, even notwithstanding my daily 'lessons" with Riddle.

I must have drifted in and out of consciousness in that chair for some time but the moment Riddle stirred I was instantly awake.

His eyes flickered open, although they were hazy. They darted around the room, analysing their surroundings until they finally came to rest on me.

"Ariadne?" He croaked.

"Hi there."

"Your hair's tied up."

Perhaps he was still a little confused. He looked around again. "What-"

"It didn't work," I said coldly.

Slowly, he registered what I was saying and instead of getting angry or questioning me like I had expected he would, he simply closed his eyes. In the half light of the room, he was oddly beautiful.

"It was painful," he said quietly. "Much more than I expected."

"I know."

He opened his eyes and they found me again. "What do you mean?"

"I'm going to call you by your first name from now on," I said. "I think I've earned it. You put me through a lot of crap today, _Tom_."

He only stared at me. I stood up and began to pace around the room, feeling worked up despite myself.

"You weren't supposed to do this without me," I said. You made me _choose_.

I saw him try to sit up and then give a low, surprised groan of pain. He collapsed back onto the bed, breathing hard.

"My ribs," he said through gritted teeth, "I think they're broken."

"Don't move," I said, going over to the bed and sitting down next to him; he winced as I accidentally jolted the bed. I began to lift up the hem of his Oxford shirt and he said sharply, "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" I snapped. "I suppose you just expect me to see through your shirt, do you?"

He gritted his teeth again as I lifted it high enough to see the large, ugly purple blotch just over his right side. I touched the area as gently as I could and he hissed, recoiling slightly.

"It's bad," I said. "I'm sorry. It's my fault."

"Never thought you'd play the martyr, Ariadne," he hissed in between breaths.

"No, it really is my fault. I'm the one who kicked you in the ribs."

"You _what_-" Riddle roared and then gave a strangled moan of pain.

"I told you to stay still, Tom," I said and he twitched involuntarily at the sound of his name. "I think I can fix this."

"_Episkey_ alone won't work, Ariadne."

"I know. Stay still," I warned him again, "I've never done this before."

"Bloody brilliant," he snarled. Ignoring him, I focused on casting a spell I remembered Dumbledore had taught me back in No 12 Grimmauld Place.

_"Very good Ariadne!" Dumbledore said approvingly, wincing as his the bones in his arm twisted and fused back together._

_"OH MY GOD SIR I AM SO SORRY ARE YOU ALRIGHT-"_

_"I assure you, I am fine," he said smiling as with one final crunch, his arm was fully mended. "You did very well! And only on your tenth try, too!"_

_"I think I'm gonna be sick," I muttered. "Why are we even learning this?"_

_There was an awkward pause as Dumbledore eyed the bandaid on my head from where I had slammed face-first into one of the talking cupboards, the rashes on my hands where I had accidentally picked up a Doxy nest instead of my hairbrush and the missing chunk from my singed hair from our duel yesterday. "Er...let's just say I have a feeling you might need it in future."_

There was a rush of heat and pale blue mist as I finished the spell; when it cleared, Riddle's side was smooth and unblemished once more.

"There," I said, satisfied. "You're fine now."

He rubbed his side and sat up gingerly. He narrowed his eyes at me. "Where did you learn that?"

"Around," I said coolly. "Don't I even get a thank you, Riddle?"

"You're the one who broke my damned ribs in the first place!"

"And you're the idiot who deserved it!" I snapped. "What were you thinking, trying to make Ravenclaw's locket into a Horcrux?"

"That's my business," he said coldly.

"Not anymore." I hissed. "If we're working together, we're working together. If you're working with me, then _work with me_."

He glared at me as a turbulent silence fell between us. I massaged my eyes wearily with the palms of my hands. I felt a headache coming on. I was exhausted.

"Either using your mother's death didn't work," I muttered, "or the Locket itself is too powerful. In any case, I think that it would be safer to change both. Maybe use something simpler..."

"Care to give me any ideas?" Riddle said sarcastically.

"I'm sure you'll think of something," I replied. "But... In regards to the death...you need to kill someone yourself. That's what makes the soul split. I'm sorry; I should have realised."

"And you're going to help me with that, Ariadne?" He laughed mockingly. "Seeing as we're _working together_ after all?"

"I will, Tom," I answered evenly. He stopped laughing and stared at me, the skin around his eyes whitening in shock. "I even know who I'll help you murder."

He didn't say anything, just stared at me as if he were seeing my face for the first time. And the silence between us stretched on.

888

"It's time," I heard Riddle's voice say. He sounded distant even though he was right at the door.

"Give me a minute," I said. I stared at my trembling hands a while longer.

"Ariadne-"

"Okay." I stood up; I walked over to him.

"Closer."

I hugged him and he stiffened.

"Too close," He said in clipped tones. I removed my arms from his waist. "Ariadne, pull yourself together."

"Sorry," I muttered.

He surveyed me intently. "Hold up your hands," he instructed me and I did as he asked. He removed the First Locket from his neck and put it into them. I jolted; it was burning.

He closed my hands around it with both of his own. We stood there in silence for a moment, our hands clasped together like a young couple taking their vows.

"Ariadne."

"Just do it."

Holding my gaze, he turned the locket in our hands and it felt like the ground had suddenly disappeared underneath me. I was shouting but I made no sound and there was nothing but the sensation of falling, falling...

"We're here," Riddle's voice said suddenly and I realized that the sensation had stopped. I broke apart from him and was sick on the floor.

"_Scourgify_," I whispered when I was done. I straightened up and saw that he was watching me.

"It's normal," he said, answering my unasked question. He turned abruptly and began to stride quickly in the opposite direction.

I followed him, looking around; we appeared to be in a deserted arched corridor that opened out to the Hogwarts grounds. The sun was setting, which explained the absence of students; classes were still on.

Riddle led me to the second floor; when we reached another corner I caught hold of his cloak and pulled him back. "Wait."

We stayed still, listening. The sound of a girl crying grew closer and I made Riddle crouch down behind a nearby armored knight as Moaning Myrtle ran past us, sobbing. A chill ran through me.

"Go," I said, "we don't have much time; she'll be there soon."

Riddle gave me an unreadable look and I ignored him; I ran to the recently vacated girl's bathroom and burst in.

"Hello?" I said. An answering clunk from one of the stalls was the only response; wand out, I opened its door. It was empty.

There was a low groan from the other stall and I slammed it open, pointing my wand at the person lying there.

"Avery?" I said incredulously and Riddle glanced my way.

"I put him there as a guard," he said, "Just leave him outside; I'll deal with him later."

"You?"

"My past self," he corrected.

"Right." I dragged Avery's body out of the room, concealing him behind one of the tapestries. Myrtle must've been in a right state, to knock him out stone cold like that.

When I re-entered, I turned to look at Riddle who was inspecting one of the taps in the center of the bathroom. He glanced at me and understanding, I closed the stall door and locked myself in. My heart was pounding as he began to hiss, softly at first, and then gradually growing in volume so that it reverberated against the stone walls of the bathroom as though there were a hundred snakes with him. I realized then that he wasn't speaking alone anymore, for there was suddenly another, much louder, answering hiss.

There was a thud. And then the sickening sound of something rough and dry and _heavy_ sliding against the smooth tiled floor.

Riddle spoke to it, his voice becoming like a caress in the air. The Basilisk responded and then the temptation was irresistible; I put my eye up to the crack in the door.

I could only see the bright, poisonous green of its gleaming scales but it was enough to let me know that it was enormous. I couldn't see Riddle from this angle but I could hear him still talking softly to it.

The door creaked as I leaned against it and there was a flash of smooth, sinuous muscle as the Basilisk turned towards me.

I stumbled back away from the door and onto the closed lid of the toilet behind me. The sliding of scales on tiles became magnified in volume as it grew closer until I could see its shadow underneath the stall door

Slowly I brought my legs up so that my arms were wrapped around my knees. Tensed, I waited.

The Basilisk hissed.

Riddle said something then in Parseltongue and the Basilisk darted its head towards him. He repeated himself and the Basilisk began to slither back to him.

I had almost begun to relax when there was the sound of the bathroom entrance being opened.

"Are you in here again, sulking Myrtle?" A girl's voice said. "Because Professor Dippet asked me to look for you-"

Riddle hissed and there was a flash of movement. Then there was an echoing, ringing silence.

My hands were shaking and I clasped them together, as if in prayer. I bit down on my knuckles to fight my urge to scream.

There was a knock on the door. "Ariadne?" Riddle said quietly. "It's over."

I unlocked the door. Refusing to look at him, I walked over and stared at the lifeless body of Olive Hornby lying, still warm, on the cold floor.

She was quite pretty, I realized. She could have had a family...maybe she would have changed her ways and stopped bullying others, and maybe she could have had a very long and happy life...

"Ariadne."

Not anymore.

"You better start the ritual," I said. "I'll create the distraction, but you should hurry."

I met his gaze and he gave a short nod.

Levitating Hornby's body off the floor, I walked out of the bathroom. I used the Map to guide me to the bare stretch of wall I remembered visiting with Harry so long ago.

I was now proficient enough with my spellwork to paint, in foot high letters, the message that had haunted me for so long.

_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, beware._

It was sick to think that while then I had been horrified and disgusted beyond belief upon seeing it, now I was only grateful that it wasn't _human_ blood I used.

I checked the Map again. There I was, running from the room where I had Defence Against the Dark Arts, having seen my Boggart for the first time. I saw Harry run after me. I knew that it was only a matter of time before he heard the Basilisk in the pipes and I headed off to the Great Hall, Olive Hornby's body floating eerily beside me.

I was early enough that the Great Hall was completely empty; I hid in the shadows cast by the pillars at the sides as I continued to watch the Map for cues. Harry had just caught up with me.

The hall slowly began to fill up with students. I stayed there for a long time; I watched the Riddle from the past sit down at his table and his followers surround him like moths lured to a flame.

I waited there until dinner was almost halfway over. I glanced at the map and saw that Harry and I were already at the wall with the writing in blood.

Riddle must nearly be finished with the ritual.

I glanced at the girl's body next to me.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. Then I stood up and levitated her body high, high into the air so that was almost obscured by the dark storm clouds of the enchanted ceiling. Thunder boomed and surprised, several of the students looked up.

Their screaming started just in time to mask Riddle's as his Horcruxes tore him apart.

I saw Harry and myself burst through the double doors of the Great Hall, saw the look of shock on my face and I let her body drop, landing onto the floor of the Great Hall with a dull crunch.

An immense feeling of déjà vu overcame me as wave upon wave of black clad students rushed to get out of the Hall. This time, I was with them, clawing and elbowing my way through the crowd. Once I was free from them, I ran back to the girls' bathroom, taking as many shortcuts as I knew to get back.

I burst into the room and saw that Riddle had collapsed to all fours, coughing and panting on the floor and smelling strongly of smoke. I moved to his side, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"It's done," he croaked. I followed his gaze to the plain black diary on the floor and I picked it up.

"Tom, we have to go," I said, glancing back at the door. "Can you take us back?"

He grimaced and stood up. He stumbled slightly and I caught him before he fell.

"My diary," he muttered.

"I have it."

"Hold on to me," he said and I did as he asked. He threw the chain of the Locket over us and turned it.

I braced myself against the falling sensation, my eyes screwed tightly shut until the sudden quiet informed me that we had arrived.

I let go of him. He collapsed into a chair and put his head in his hands, still breathing hard.

"Do you feel different?" I asked him quietly.

"I thought I would," he murmured. He looked down at himself. "But I feel the same."

I sat down in the chair opposite him; I stared at him for a long time. I tried to catalogue the tiny changes in the face I knew almost as well as my own now. Did he look paler? Did his eyes look more scarlet? Or was I transposing my own fears onto my image of him?

"There's something about being human," I said and he looked up, "that graces us with the ability to feel compassion. To be able to put oneself in another's shoes. To hurt as one hurts. And love, too. That's what makes us what we are, so fundamentally _alive_." I hesitated. "I look at you, Riddle-Tom- and I don't see that."

"What are you saying, then?" He sneered. "That I'm not alive? Not human?"

"I think you're pretending," I said quietly. "You and I both know that you weren't expecting to feel any different after Olive's murder. Do what you want to please everyone else. But I beg you, don't pretend for me, because it scares me to death."

He bared his teeth. "You think you know me, Ariadne?"

"Perhaps not, Riddle," I answered. "But I daresay more than most."

I stood up and handed him his diary. "Your second Horcrux will be next week. You'd better get ready."

"Ariadne?" He said as I was about to leave. I turned.

"I have no qualms about Olive Hornby's death. I have no moral turmoil. I did not know her. In fact," he said, looking me directly in the eyes, "I think that she is more useful to the world in death than she ever was alive."

He stood up, taking a step towards me. "You don't want me to pretend Ariadne? As you wish. But I warn you, you may regret your request."

"Thanks," I said, and fled.

**A/N: I am ALL for character and relationship development. Riddle and Ari...I like their violence together, if that makes any sense.**

**Hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to leave a review—and have a _wonderful_ day.**


	18. Second

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Harry Potter.

**A/N: **This is the longest chapter I've ever written—32 pages. But there's a scene here that was lifted directly from the Half Blood Prince, from the chapter 'A Sluggish Memory'. Hope you all enjoy! I've just graduated so chapters should (hopefully) come out more quickly...

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**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 17: Second**

"_Thanks," I said, and fled._

It was almost Christmastime, Riddle thought as he watched the stormy iron mass of clouds outside his window. The thought of Christmas reminded him, as usual of the upcoming New Year, which in turn, reminded him of his birthday. He would be seventeen. Seventeen, on New Year's Eve...

His grey eyes narrowed.

_"Yes, the late Gaunts caused quite a scandal a few years back. Marvolo Gaunt, I believe his name was, and his son, Morfin, and daughter, Merope. The son was sent to Azkaban for attacking Muggles in the village where they lived." _

_"And the daughter?"_

_"Ran off with some Muggle, or so I've heard. A waste of good blood."_

Sir Constantine du Gaunt, one of the Slytherin ghosts. He had found him by going on a single name: Marvolo. He still remembered his disbelief when he had realized it was his _mother_ and not his father that had been magic...

So she had died by her own choice, then. She had died, rather than stay alive despite her own son. But, he remembered the gossip among the staff at the orphanage, she had kept her heart beating long enough to give him his name: _Tom Riddle_...

His eyes burned brilliant red and he stood up.

He had been distracted...by Horcruxes, and antidotes. He had wasted much time...no matter. It was time to pay a much awaited visit to his dear grandfather Marvolo.

888

"Finish him!" I yelled at Ron, who had his bishop cornering Harry's knight. With a violent _crunch_, his knight was obliterated into pieces and I cheered shamelessly. "That's three Sickles, Draco!"

"Bloody Potter," he muttered as he angrily handed over the silver coins which I pocketed gleefully. "Can't even win a bloody chess game..."

We were in the middle of our free study period, although Hermione was so far the only one doing any studying. Occasionally she would watch Harry and Ron's chess game when things got particularly noisy but it was always with a disdainful sniff that she returned back to her work. We were sitting around the stone archways that led to the Hogwarts grounds, the chessboard balanced precariously on one of the ledges. I'd already lost one apiece to Ron and Harry but I'd beaten Draco twice despite his foul tactics, much to his disgruntlement.

"You wanna go another round, brother?" I said, taking Ron's seat. "Let's see if I can't sucker another three Sickles outta you..."

"Try it, de Lioncourt..."

Grinning, I began to set up the board but stopped when I caught the back of a tall, familiar looking figure leaving the castle. My brow creased and I scrambled to my feet.

"Where are you going?" Draco called out.

"Just tidying my hair!" I yelled back, but as soon as I was out of their sight I followed the path Riddle had taken. I caught up with him at the stone steps where Harry had once told me would lead to Hagrid's hut someday.

"Tom," I said. "What are you doing?"

He turned around. He looked more tired, more gaunt than usual but he seemed unsurprised to see me. "Hello, Ariadne. I was just going to take a stroll around the grounds." He didn't even bother to sound convincing.

"It's too dark for a stroll," I said.

"It's a very short one."

"You're wearing a suit."

"I like to look my best."

I studied him. "It's bad, isn't it?"

"Very," he replied, unsmiling. I said nothing and he gave me a cold look. "Will you stop me, Ariadne?"

I leaned in and he stiffened. I straightened his tie and he looked at me with some indecipherable emotion.

"Don't get caught," I said shortly and a crease formed between his brows as I left him, returning to the archway where the others still sat.

"Your hair still looks stupid," Draco said grumpily when I reached them.

"Jeez," I said, looking at Harry. "How many times did Ron beat him while I was gone?"

He smirked. "Five."

Draco told him to do something very anatomically impossible with his wand and I laughed.

"Relax, Draco. C'mon, you owe me a game."

"What took you so long?" Draco said petulantly.

"I..." I trailed off. My eye landed on one of the ballet pink leaflets lying trampled on the floor and I said, "I was checking out those leaflets. They're everywhere."

"Oh, for the Christmas ball?" Hermione said, looking up from her essay.

"Since when did Hogwarts have a _ball_?" I said, surprised.

"It's all in the era, Ari. Dancing was a very popular pasttime in the 1940's," she said knowledgeably. "I remember reading that the tradition was dropped somewhere in the seventies, when someone let loose a Chimaera on the dance floor."

"The crazy seventies, huh? Are you going?"

Hermione turned pink and glanced at Ron who was suddenly very busy straightening his pawns. "I guess it would depend."

"On what, Granger?" Draco sneered. "How big your teeth get before you can cut a path through the crowd?"

"Shut your fat mouth, Malfoy," Ron snarled, "before I curse it off for you."

"You-auuugh!"

"Am I the only one remembering to use the right names?" Hermione said, frowning at the other three while I lazily put out the fire in Draco's hair with my wand. "If you can't use the correct surnames, then use first names. There are at least two other Malfoys, a fair few Potters and more than a few Weasleys and it would be best not to give any of them the impression that you're one of their long lost cousins or something."

This sparked another heated argument on Draco's side and I stopped listening, my thoughts straying as they so often did nowadays to Tom Riddle. It had been some time since...since the night we revisited Olive Hornby's death. I still couldn't believe that it had been _me_...I could still distinctly remember my horror when I had initially beheld her body floating in the air, with Harry.

I hadn't thought I could be capable of doing such a thing. Well, with Riddle you learned new things all the time. The guilt, though...I found that it was best not to think about it. Because if I did, if I _did_ what I wanted to do which was to curl up and hide away from the world, then how could I live like this?

888

_How could he live like this?_ Riddle thought, disgusted as he eyed the dirty, crumbling hovel before him. He paused only to examine the withered snake nailed to the door and without bothering to knock, entered, keeping the old fashioned lamp he held in his other hand aloft.

Voldemort's eyes moved slowly around the hovel, taking in the grime-coated floor and the mouldy and rotting food upon the table and then found the man in the armchair. For a few seconds they looked at each other, then the man staggered upright, the many empty bottles at his feet clattering and tinkling across the floor.

"YOU!" he bellowed. "YOU!"

And he hurtled drunkenly at Riddle, wand and knife held aloft.

"_Stop._"

Riddle spoke in Parseltongue. The man skidded into the table, sending mouldy pots crashing to the floor. He stared at Riddle. There was a long silence while they contemplated each other. The man broke it.

"_You speak it?"_

"_Yes, I speak it,_" said Riddle. He moved forwards into the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. He felt no fear—only disgust and, perhaps, disappointment.

"_Where is Marvolo?"_ he asked.

"_Dead,"_ said the other. "_Died years ago, didn't he?_"

Riddle frowned.

"_Who are you, then?"_

"_I'm Morfin, ain't I?_"

"_Marvolo's son?_"

"_Course I am, then..."_

Morfin pushed the hair out of his dirty face, the better to see Riddle and Riddle's lip curled in disgust.

"_I thought you was that Muggle,"_ whispered Morfin. "_You look mighty like that Muggle."_

"_What Muggle?_" said Riddle sharply.

"_That Muggle what my sister took a fancy to, that Muggle what lives in the big house over the way,_" said Morfin, and he spat unexpectedly upon the floor between them. "_You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, i'n 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it..."_

Morfin looked slightly dazed and swayed a little, still clutching the edge of the table for support.

"_He come back, see,_" he added stupidly.

Voldemort was gazing at Morfin, as though appraising his possibilities. Now he moved a little closer and said, "_Riddle came back?_"

"_Ar, he left her, and serve her right, marrying filth!_" said Morfin, spitting on the floor again. "_Robbed us, mind, before she ran off! Where's the locket, eh, where's Slytherin's locket?"_

Voldemort did not answer. Morfin was working himself into a rage again; he brandished his knife and shouted, "_Dishonoured us, she did, that little slut! And who're you, coming here and asking questions about all that? It's over, innit...it's over..."_

He looked away, staggering slightly and Riddle moved forwards. His wand sliced through the air and then Morfin was on the ground, unconscious. As he wiped the man's memory, he glanced at Morfin's body with nothing less than disdain. He could not lie to himself; he had been expecting more... He cocked his head when he noticed a dull glimmer of gold on his left hand and frowning, he knelt down beside his uncle's unconscious body. With some slight difficulty, he prised the ring off his thick fingers and held it up to the final rays of grey sunlight streaming in the broken window. There were faint scratches on its ugly black stone set in the middle of the poorly worked gold and Riddle wondered why Morfin had kept it. Unless...

He pocketed the ring and stood up abruptly, leaving the wretched shack behind him. Once he was outside, he almost made to Apparate back to Hogwarts but stopped mid turn. He recalled that Morfin had said something about Riddle...his _father_...returning back to Little Hangleton...

His eyes flickered to the silhouette of the village, barely visible against the foggy horizon. His wand arm twitched.

Don't be foolish, he told himself. Don't do anything unnecessary...

He realized that he had been drumming his long fingers against the handle of his wand-one of _her_ habits-and this irritated him more than it should have. He took a step in the direction of the town, never taking his eyes off the large house set right on the hillside that loomed over the rest of the village.

"_You look right like him. Riddle. But he's older now, i'n 'e? He's older'n you, now I think on it..."_

His vision became red; his grip tightened so that his knuckles were white against the pale wood of his wand. He turned and vanished.

Riddle reappeared in a dark corner of the village streets at the base of the hillside and he strode out onto the relatively quiet streets. It was getting to be quite late- that uncertain point between sunset and nighttime-and no one liked to be caught in the middle of an oncoming storm that was fast approaching across the horizon although he himself felt indifferent.

No one noticed him, the strange young man slipping through the streets as quietly as a ghost except a rather large woman who had stepped out of her home to put out the cat. The moment she caught sight of him, her mouth had opened in shock and her eyes bulged.

"_Obliviate_!" Riddle said sharply and her expression became unfocused and dreamy as she slumped against her doorway. Curious, he approached her. Her reaction...had that been recognition? He twirled his wand between his fingers as he coldly surveyed the woman. In any case, she wouldn't remember any of the previous night the next morning...or the previous week.

Perhaps he had slightly overdone the charm...

Shaking his head, he left her there, resuming his path down the streets and finally before the gate that led into the large grounds of the Riddle House. His lip curled at the sight of the imposing, iron wrought gate. With a flick of his wand, they unlocked and swung open of their own accord and he entered the grounds, sparing only a cursory glance at the run down cottage to his left as he passed it. Much more quickly than he would have expected, he found himself standing directly in front of the tall, imposing ebony double doors of the Riddle House. As if he were seeing someone else do it, he watched his arm raise from his side and press the doorbell. From inside the house, an elegant chiming of bells sounded.

Riddle stood, frozen to the spot. What was he doing? He promised himself that he was just going to take a look at _him_ just to satisfy his curiosity once and for all. But even as he thought it, his hand was clenching convulsively on his wand.

The sounds of approaching footsteps grew closer and Tom's brain went into overdrive. Time slowed down, and as the door opened, his wand arm raised and the words that would bring absolute death already on his lips—

"I'm sorry, but we w- oh." Riddle started and the elderly woman in the door did so as well. For a single, shocked moment both were silent as they stared at one another.

She was tall, with a gracefully lined face and raven black hair that was pinned elegantly back in a chignon. Her features shouldn't have been familiar- but Riddle recognized something in the proud arch of her brows, the aristocratic curve of her nose. They were his own.

For her part, the woman was no less reserved in her intense study of the boy in front of her. He was-this stranger, this boy, he looked—

"Who are you?" She whispered and for the first time in his life, Riddle couldn't think of anything to say.

A noise sounded from inside and Riddle tensed.

"Eliza, who the devil-" a man appeared just behind the woman's shoulder his face turned down in a severe frown but his reaction upon seeing Riddle was no less dramatic than hers; he too was struck dumb mid sentence. Tom barely breathed as he stared into the wide stormy grey eyes of what felt like a heavily errored, aged vision into his own future. "I..." He shook his head, seeming to recover slightly. "Who-"

"Would you come in?" The woman cut across him and the man frowned.

"Eliza-"

She silenced him with a look and turned back to Riddle who was rather taken aback at being addressed so directly. He nodded.

Both watched the action with a certain awe and he began to feel slightly uncomfortable under their rapt gaze. The man seemed to sense this and he cleared his throat meaningfully. The woman started again and then turned around, muttering to herself, "Yes...this way..."

The man gave him another glance and followed the woman. Feeling very much as though he were in a dream, Riddle stepped into the doorway and looked around. The house was as big as its outside appearance suggested, but it was dark and slightly cold as if it did not receive many visitors. As they walked, the woman continued to steal glances at him and marvelled at the similarity. _Exactly_ the same...but different. Was it the expression? For all his comparable youth, there an aura of coldness and indifference about him, as if he had already met the bitter end of life and what's more, knew it well. There was no innocence in his face and it disturbed her.

They reached the drawing room, and Eliza Riddle offered him a seat at the table's head which he accepted silently.

The sense of surrealness heightened as Riddle settled himself in the chair. The two stood awkwardly in front of him.

"Er...would you care for a drink?" The man said.

"No, thank you."

"I think I'll have one myself," he muttered, heading over to a cabinet over the walls. The woman-Eliza- took the seat across from him, clasping her hands in her lap. An awkward silence fell over the room.

"This is very unexpected," she said suddenly. "We'd never thought- I mean," she exchanged glances with the man. "I'm being very rude. My name is Eliza and this is Theodore, my husband. And you...?"

He hesitated. "Tom."

Both made a convulsive movement and both immediately tried to hide it; the man, who had nearly dropped his glass of brandy set it carefully on the table; the woman, whose hand had flown to her heart moved hastily up to touch the string of pearls around her neck.

Tom stood up. "I didn't mean to intrude," he said formally. "I'm very sorry-"

"Sit," Mrs. Riddle said kindly but sternly. "Please."

After a moment, he did as she asked, although warily.

"How old are you?" She asked.

"Seventeen," he answered, "this December."

She nodded and behind her, the man took another long drink from his glass. "How did you come by this house?"

"I was given the address by someone who thought I would be...interested." She seemed to understand that he was unwilling-or unlikely- to elaborate on the topic.

"Well then...it's lovely to meet you, Tom."

"I beg your pardon?" Tom said incredulously. He noticed the man staring at her with some similar sentiment.

"Well I've always wanted grandchildren," she said defensively, "and goodness knows I could hardly count on Tom-that's our son, dear- to even consider such a thing after he...returned." She shook her head disbelievingly. "Poor, foolish, fickle boy! It's a wonder your mother stayed with him as long as she did. Is she doing well?"

"She died," Riddle said coldly, "giving birth to me."

Mrs. Riddle faltered and a look of deep sorrow settled upon her face. "Dear. I'm so sorry. So you were raised...?"

"In an orphanage, yes."

Her brow creased with worry and distress. "I could kill him."

He blinked. "Sorry?"

"I could kill that boy!" She raged and the transformation from her earlier graciousness was incredible. "He came back after six months—six months, mind you! No letters or anything- babbling all this nonsense about being "hoodwinked" and "taken in" and whatnot and not for one second did he mention that his lover was with child! Did we teach him nothing, Theodore? Did we raise him in the gutter? I spent every penny on that boy, sent him to the finest school and ooh I do wish I had gouged out his eyes instead...!"

"Darling. _Darling_," Mr Riddle interrupted, walking quickly over to her and placing a reassuring hand on the back of her chair. He bent down and whispered something in her ear and slowly, the fury ebbed away from her face to be replaced by a look of slight mortification. She stood up and with as much dignity as she could muster, announced, "I shall check on the roast. You will stay for dinner, Tom?"

Mr Riddle caught his eye and gave a very deliberate nod and hastily, he gave his affirmative, much to her apparent satisfaction.

As she disappeared to the kitchen there was another silence as the two men surveyed one another. "My wife," Mr Riddle said quietly, "has a bit of a temper."

"So it seems," Tom said dryly. So insanity ran in both sides of the family? And Ariadne wondered why he was the way he was.

He nodded gravely. "I love to hear her speak, yet well I know; That music hath a far more pleasing sound."

Tom leaned forward in his chair. "I grant I never saw a goddess go; My mistress, when she walks, treads on ground."

"And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare; As any belied with false compare," the other man finished sombrely and Riddle gave a thin smile.

"Shakespeare."

His grey eyes- only marginally lighter than Tom's own- studied him carefully. "Very good. You enjoy literature?"

"If I can obtain it, yes," Tom answered, thinking of the limited supply at the orphanage.

A short silence elapsed during which Mr Riddle studied him closely. "In any case, you seem to have been taught well. May I ask which school you attend?"

"It's not near here."

"I see," Mr Riddle said, frowning. "Did you have to travel far to reach Little Hangleton?"

"A fair distance," replied Tom languidly. "Have you lived here long?"

"Oh, I built this place when I was a younger man. And we've stayed here ever since..." he said thoughtfully. "But I suppose it was only recently that we added the gate. Nosy townsfolk, you understand. How you managed to get past it is beyond me." He levelled Tom with a penetrating stare which he returned calmly.

"It was left open," he said.

Mr Riddle arched his brows in a manner that was irresistibly familiar to Tom. "It was, was it? I'll have to have a word with Frank about that."

Tom inclined his head as if to agree and hid a smirk at the slight surprise on the elder man's face. Needless to say, he was very familiar with what his grandfather—strange it was to think the word!—was doing; subtle interrogation was after all, Tom's specialty. Mr Riddle, although still somewhat wary of him, tilted his head in restrained recognition and for the first time that day, Tom smiled.

"Father?" A voice called out and somewhere in the house, a door slammed shut and the smile slid from Tom's face like grease. Mr Riddle too, looked alarmed and he made to get up from his chair.

"Good Lord, it's quite a downpour outside, it was awfully hard to find someone willing to drive up to the house! And father, you might want to have a word with the gardener, I don't rather appreciate being ordered off my own lawn—" The visitor entered the drawing room, shaking off the droplets of rain from himself. He caught sight of his father's uneasy expression and said, "What is the matter?"

"Tom," Mr Riddle cleared his throat. "There is someone you should meet."

Raising a brow questioningly, Tom Riddle Senior turned and met the eyes of his son, who was frozen in his chair. They hadn't been lying at the orphanage. If he had thought earlier that there were similarities in the appearances of his grandparents then looking into his father's face was like staring into a mirror. The elder's nose was slightly longer; his jaw more square and there was some grey already at his temples but he was tall, pale, dark haired and handsome, like his son.

Tom Riddle Senior was speechless for a long time. Then he began to scream.

"Calm down, Tom!" Mr Riddle said sharply but the man didn't seem to hear him as he staggered backwards away from his son.

"It's a trick! It's a trap!" he shrieked, staring at Tom in terror. "She—she—she found me! Oh God!"

"Tom—"

"She's a witch!" he yelled senselessly. "A demon! Get him away from me father, don't let him come near me...!"

While Mr Riddle tried to reason with him to little effect something hot and monstrous erupted in the pit of Tom's stomach as he stared into the half mad eyes of the man who had abandoned him before he had even been born. A vicious, live hatred borne from years of frustration and fury at this snivelling, cowardly man with _his _face exploded inside him; boiling blood rose to his brain and he saw nothing but red and then a flash of vivid green as his mouth hissed the words of final judgement.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

His father's eyes widened and then became blank; he collapsed to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut and the room was suddenly deathly silent. Savage triumph intermingled with his anger as Tom stared at the empty shell of what had been less than a man.

"You...you..."

The sound of his grandfather's voice hit him like an icy slap to the face and he met his shocked stare. Mr Riddle rushed to his son's dead body, and low despairing moans issued from him as he confirmed that he was, in fact, dead. Riddle staggered back as he looked at him.

"You _are_ a demon," he said in a low voice and Tom stared.

"What's going on? I heard a noise—" Without thinking, Tom turned his wand on Eliza Riddle as she reappeared in the doorway and minutes later, she too was lying vacant and lifeless on the floor. There was a bellow; something hard and sharp crashed into his face and his temper flared again; eyes gleaming scarlet, he brought his wand down on his grandfather and murdered him.

Breathing hard, he looked around. It was suddenly very, very quiet. Even the roar of the rain seemed muffled somehow. Tom's hands were shaking slightly and he gripped the handle of his yew wand so that his knuckles shone white.

They were all dead. He hadn't—there was no time—he had to leave, he had to _run_—

Tom took a gasping breath and closed his eyes. No. He had to think. What's done is done; he couldn't afford to be stupid now, to make mistakes. He had to make sure none of this led back to him.

_Morfin Gaunt._

He reopened his eyes and stared out the long vertical window against which the rain pounded viciously. Then without sparing another glance at the three lifeless bodies in the room, he left the mansion silently and unnoticed by all except the old gardener who had been watching the house through his cottage windows.

888

My eyelids drooped and I straightened up in my comfortable armchair by the fire of the Gryffindor common room. I yawned and stretched out my arms as I readjusted the book in my lap. Outside, thunder boomed and the rain beat harder against the glass.

Waves of exhaustion rolled over me but I fought to keep myself awake- I had to read until page 223 of my Charms textbook by Monday or else I'd fall even further behind in class. My grades in almost every subject besides Potions had suffered thanks to my late nights with Riddle, so I was struggling to make up for everything now, especially with exams soon on the way before the Christmas holidays...

But the rhythm of the rain against the windows was too soothing and when I blinked, I found my eyes closing for longer and longer periods of time...

I opened my eyes and sat up abruptly. It was suddenly too quiet. I listened intently. Had the rain stopped? Then there was the sound of the portrait hole swinging open and wide eyed I removed the blanket from my lap. It was so late, who...?

"Hello," Tom Riddle said quietly and the portrait clicked shut behind him.

I actually gasped out loud. "Riddle? What are you—" I didn't know which of the many questions to ask him so I tried again, "How did you—" In sheer confusion I had to start over. "...why are you all wet?"

He looked down at himself as if just realizing his state. He was still wearing the black suit from this morning but he was soaking wet; his hair was plastered to his face which was deathly pale even by the glow of the fire. There was a long, nasty-looking cut on his cheek. "I was out. May I come in?"

Without waiting for a reply he stepped into the center of the room and looked around. "So this is the famed Gryffindor common room."

"Yes—_where you shouldn't be_," I said pointedly and he ignored me, choosing instead to examine one of the bright scarlet and gold tapestries hanging on the walls, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Rather garish...but I suppose that is suitable enough."

"Riddle," I said slowly, "where were you?"

He began to pick up various ornaments on the mantelpiece above the fireplace, including a large bronze model of a lion devouring a man whose mouth was stretched open in a silent scream. "Interesting choice of decor," he muttered and spared me a side glance. "I do rather like your night clothes as well, Ariadne."

I flushed and tugged the sleeves of my sunshine yellow nightgown down further. "Tom—"

He whirled around, his eyes flashing red and snarled, "_**Do not call me by that name!**_"

Taken aback and stunned into silence, I watched him warily. He was breathing hard, his nostrils flared and his eyes wide and gleaming red in the firelight. The cut on his cheek was starting to bleed down his cheek. Something must have happened—in all the time I'd known him, I'd never seen him so discomposed...or shaken.

"You're bleeding," I said and he pressed a hand to the wound. "What happened?"

Riddle said nothing and slowly, I approached him, like one would a wild animal.

"Why don't you come sit down next to me? Okay?" I took his hand cautiously and led him back to the couch. His skin was freezing against my own and when he was seated, I threw the blanket I had been using around his shoulders. A thick silence fell between us as I watched him carefully.

"You were gone for an awfully long time," I said carefully.

"Is that so." Riddle said in a toneless voice.

"I was starting to get worried."

He gave a disbelieving laugh. "About me, Ariadne?"

"About the poor sod who you suddenly took into your mind to go visit," I said quietly and he looked up, anger written plainly on his face. "I don't mean to offend. You and I both know why I would think that."

"Of course," Riddle snarled, "because I'm not human, am I?"

"I didn't—"

"Well, it looks like you were right this time then, my dear Ariadne! For once in your pitifully small life, you are completely and utterly correct. After all..." he said and his hands trembled slightly despite his inflectionless voice, "...they didn't think so either."

Uncertainly, I put a hand on his elbow in a small show of comfort, although I doubted he noticed. Gently, I asked, "What happened?"

His eyes flashed crimson with fury and then abruptly and unexpectedly reverted back to their stormy grey, their fury replaced by an expression I could only describe as hopelessness and for some reason, this frightened me more than his anger. "I murdered them," he whispered.

"Who—" I gasped lightly as I caught sight of the black and gold ring on his right hand, but he didn't notice.

"My father. My grandfather. My...grandmother. All of them." He closed his eyes and when he opened them he was furious again. "It wasn't my fault!" He burst out suddenly, childishly. "They deserved it—for not caring—for—for leaving me with _them_—" Red eyes stared at me hatefully. "Do you know what it's like, Ariadne? Have you any conceivable idea of what it is like to be abandoned by _choice_?"

Riddle stood up, pacing on the hearth while I watched him with a kind of mesmerised awe. "All their parents were dead—" he muttered, moving restlessly. "All the other children and they would ask around, make it a game—" here he imitated a child's voice to such accuracy that I started, " 'Where's your father? Where's your mother?' Even though they all knew and I had to explain _every time_ that he was _alive_—"

He stopped and stared at me. "But I killed him," he said cruelly, "so it looks like I'll have to find a different answer from now on."

Riddle began to laugh, so frighteningly and so madly, like a man possessed that amid his wild and insane laughter I panicked and stood up.

"Enough!" I said shrilly. He stopped and the look on his face made me sure that he was about to curse me but he closed his eyes instead and swayed. I caught hold of him and made him sit back on the couch.

I wondered why he was so affected by this, his family's murder. Surely, this meant little more to him than when he had set the Basilisk on Olive Hornby? Murder was murder; it was all the same...except...

Unbidden, something stirred in my memory of words printed in black ink on a well worn pocket book—something regarding the murders in Riddle House, where the three victims were found, unmarked on the floor of the drawing room...

Was he so affected because these were the first murders that Riddle himself had committed with his own wand? That these deaths were the result of purely his own actions, rather than a monster over which he held control? The idea put everything in perspective; it made sense then, for him to be this way...it would have screwed anyone up...but then again, Riddle wasn't just anyone...

"They invited me into their house," Riddle said dully, interrupting my thoughts. "The woman—my grandmother...she wanted me to stay." His voice expressed nothing but disbelief. Horrified, I listened to his recount of the events with a kind of terrified revulsion and unexpected, overwhelming pity. "And then he—_he_ came and I didn't know what I was doing until...it was over. And then they were all gone too."

To be a victim of their own anger and rage...and guilt...how must that feel? "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that this happened to you."

"I wish I was never born," he whispered in a voice that was barely a croak.

"No..." I wanted so badly to say something to the contrary, something even vaguely comforting because I hated more than anything else to see him like this but I realized then, that there had to be hundreds of thousands of people who wished the same thing. It was a miserable, despicable thought. What was it like, to be truly hated? His father had despised him before he had even been born. His mother hadn't cared enough to keep herself alive for him. And then to grow up in an orphanage, knowing all the while that if someone had perhaps liked him just a little more, this grim and destitute life would have been only a distant possibility, perhaps in only the worst of nightmares. Was it so difficult to understand then, why he became what he became?

Yes, he was the greatest evil sorcerer the world would ever see. The worst possible human being.

But even though he was cold and aloof and sometimes frightening, he was still a man, who could feel and hate and hurt, who could feel lonely and abandoned with the best of them. His future did not undo his past. His past was here, painfully confused and furious, on this couch, in front of me now.

He was a terrible, despicable human being. But he _was_ human.

I had been wrong.

I didn't realize that I had been crying until Riddle turned his head to look at me and I caught myself, rubbing my eyes with my knuckles like a child. "Sorry. I get it."

"No. You don't."

"Tom..."

"Don't call me that," he said, although this time tiredly.

"It's your name," I said. I hesitated; I was struggling with whether or not to continue. In the end, I forced myself.

"The day my parents died," I began and Riddle looked up sharply, "a stranger came to our house. I was the one who answered the door. And...he asked to come in. I don't know why. I don't know why I let him in. I shouldn't have let him in. I remember he smiled at me and...oh God, then they were there on the floor but they weren't _moving_ and I couldn't understand _why_ they wouldn't answer me and I couldn't stop _screaming—_" I stopped and tacked a breath; it was getting hard to speak past the lump in my throat. I had never talked about this with anyone else—never even spoke about it until this night. I looked at Riddle, who was listening intently and tried to recollect my thoughts.

"I...can't say that I know what it's like, growing up the way you did. I'm not as smart as you. I'm not as fierce as you so I don't think that I would have handled it very well. But...I loved my parents very, very much Tom, _very_ much and when they died...I wished that I had gone myself. So please believe me when I say that I understand what you're feeling right now...more than I want to."

I could feel Riddle's eyes on me as I cleared my throat, suddenly awkward. I felt strangely exposed and vulnerable after revealing so much...after spending so much time alone with these thoughts, it felt like a distinct violation of something almost sacrosanct. What would he make of this?

There was a light touch on my arm; unwillingly, I looked down and saw the white handkerchief Riddle was silently offering me. Embarrassed but slightly touched, I accepted it and blew my nose. "I wasn't crying. There was a bug in my eye."

"Of course," Riddle said mildly. I sneaked a glance at him and saw that some of the previous anger and despair had dissipated; he seemed calmer and slightly more relaxed. Glad for the lighter atmosphere, I half smiled at him.

"So how did you get into the Gryffindor tower, anyway?" I said. "I always thought our security system was foolproof."

Tom snorted unwillingly, and some of the color returned to his face. "Hardly. I simply asked the painting to let me in."

"I going to have a word with her," I muttered under my breath, remembering how she had eyed Draco on our first night at Hogwarts. I hesitated. "Were you...looking for me?"

His grey eyes bored into my own and I stared back at him, unwittingly holding my breath.

"Maybe it was foolish of me," he said quietly, "but you did say that you knew me more than most, Ariadne."

"Right," I whispered.

A deeper, graver expression settled on his face. He looked down at his hands. "At least...it wasn't all for nothing."

I looked down as well and swallowed hard when he held up a familiar ring, clumsily made of gold and set with a stone black as night.

"My uncle's ring," he said, holding it up so that it caught the light of the frozen flames in the fireplace. "It's...the only relic of the Slytherin bloodline that was left, except for..."

"Slytherin's Locket," I whispered and he glanced sharply at me.

"So you do know about it."

"I've only heard about it," I said. "But I always assumed it was just a story."

He studied me, but I couldn't take my eyes off the ring. There were what looked like scratches on the stone, but if you knew what you were looking for you could just make out the edge of a triangle, the curve of a circle and the slash that intersected them both...

"It's my heirloom," he said quietly. "My right."

"I know."

"I want it to be my next Horcrux."

I met his gaze and held it. "I know."

888

"I know, I know!"

"You're still doing it wrong," I pointed out and Draco scowled. "It's in the wand movements; it's more of an upward flick than a prod..."

"I _am_ flicking!" Draco snapped and I sighed, massaging my forehead. We were in Charms, the final class of the day, where we were supposed to be learning the Aguamenti charm. Draco was having some trouble; he had only succeeded in producing water vapour and ice so far.

"How did you even learn to do that?" he said irritably after his fifth failed attempt.

"You should hang around Hermione some time," I reprimanded him, "you'll learn loads of stuff."

"As if I would," he sneered. "Don't be selfish, help me out then..."

"Fine, you lazy git..."

While he was practising the charm, I suddenly grabbed his arm.

"Ouch—what are you...!"

"Shut up," I said, glancing furtively around. "Now, don't look now but...that girl with the glasses? Two rows behind us. She's been staring at you for a while. I think she likes you."

"What?" he said impatiently. He made to turn around but I hissed at him to stay still.

"Honestly, Draco, don't you know how this works?"

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

"Slowly," I repeated. "And _casually._ Like so."

I demonstrated this by making a very huge, very deliberate yawn as I swivelled in my chair to catch a glimpse of the girl behind us. I motioned for Draco to do the same and awkwardly, he did. The girl met his eyes and blushed and I snorted with laughter behind my hand as he turned back to the front, slightly pink in the face.

"Pretty, no?" I said, nudging his elbow.

"She's a _Gryffindor_," he said, as though this were a very grave social stigma.

"So are you," I pointed out. " I reckon you should ask her out."

"What?" Draco spluttered. "I—I never—I don't even know her name!"

"Augusta Burke," I supplied helpfully. "I share a dormitory with her."

"What—"

"You should take her to the Christmas ball!" I said, having been walloped by a sudden stroke of inspiration.

"Ari."

"Yeah."

"What are you doing?" Draco said suspiciously and I shrugged.

"I'm looking out for you. I know it's been frustrating being here, away from all your friends...and I know it can't be good for you to be stuck with me all the time. You should have a bit of fun some time, you know?"

"I am having fun!" he said, aggressively.

"Oh, you're so shy," I teased and he refused to speak to me after that.

When classes had finished, I wandered off in a different direction and Draco asked me irritably where I was going.

"Just the Library. Gotta catch up. I'm fairly certain I'm going to fail Transfiguration any time soon." He looked slightly cheered at the thought and I waved him goodbye although instead of walking to the Library as I had said, I detoured into one of the less used corridors. 'Later' found me with Riddle again.

"So we'll do it tomorrow night?" I said and he nodded. We were sitting together in one of the stone archways that overlooked the lake; a relatively unpopular place due to its freezing cold draughts that whistled past occasionally. "Are you sure you're up to this?"

"For the last time," Riddle said exasperatedly, "I'm fine, Ari."

"Well the ritual isn't exactly a walk in the park, is it? I swear, if you die on me, Riddle..."

"Then I'm sure there will be much rejoicing from you," he muttered.

"Tom. I'm serious."

"As am I. I have strength enough for this, Ariadne."

I was about to say something else but was cut off by the appearance of Slughorn and Dumbledore strolling past our isolated corner. Immediately, Riddle stiffened; he dropped his relaxed posture leaning against the stone pillar for a more formal sitting position. Slughorn caught sight of us and, grabbing Dumbledore by the elbow and dragging him in our direction.

"Tom," he said beaming at us. "And Miss de Lioncourt! How lovely to see you two outside of class."

"Hello Professor," Riddle replied formally. "We were just discussing the essay you recently assigned us regarding the uses of bloodroot versus witch hazel in the Wolfsbane potion..."

"I've been telling him, witch hazel is definitely the more superior," I chimed in, "because it also has anti-coagulant properties that prevent the person from losing too much blood when they transform..."

"But you forget the more unpleasant side effects brought on by it," Riddle pointed out. "As _I've_ been telling you."

Slughorn looked gleeful. "Both correct!" He turned to Dumbledore, who had been watching us carefully. "These are my best students," he told him proudly.

"I'm sure they are," Dumbledore responded quietly. "But why pick such a gloomy place to meet?"

Riddle's eyes narrowed infinitesimally and I cleared my throat. "It was pretty noisy everywhere else, sir," I said. "And we thought it'd be quieter by the Lake. Right, Tom?"

"Yes," he said, baring his teeth in a charming smile. "It does get rather difficult to concentrate, sometimes."

"Oh ho ho ho..." Slughorn chuckled. "We'd better give them their privacy then, Albus...don't want to intrude..."

"I agree, Horace," Dumbledore said calmly. "Goodnight Ari, Tom."

"You too, sir."

They left and I sighed while Riddle maintained his rigid posture. "You know," I said eyeing him, "you can be incredible unsubtle sometimes, Tom."

"So you say," he said dryly. "Since when did you become so learned on the properties of witch hazel?"

I grinned. "Since I started copying your notes in class."

He gave a short, disbelieving laugh but that quickly faded away into a thoughtful silence. "Slughorn seemes...enthusiastic."

"Don't remind me," I muttered. "He reckons that we'll get together someday and invite him to our wedding, and send him little gift baskets filled with crystallized pineapple as a thanks for introducing us..."

Riddle cocked his head to one side. "He thinks that?"

"You haven't noticed? C'mon, Riddle."

"I suppose that would explain much of his past behaviour," he said frowning. "Although Dumbledore appears to have somewhat different suspicions."

"He trusts me," I said. I looked down at my hands and Riddle caught my mood instantly.

"You feel guilty," he said, his eyebrows raised, "for deceiving him?"

"Of course I do," I said. "I have only him to thank for bringing me to Hogwarts in the first place."

A silence fell, not entirely uncomfortably, between us. I stared out at the Lake and Riddle watched me.

"Do you miss it?" He asked me quietly. "Your home?"

"I miss my best friend," I answered, "and I miss my parents. But honestly..." I patted the stone pillar, "I feel more at home here than anywhere else."

He didn't say anything, which I appreciated. After all, who could understand those particular sentiments better than him?

Later, as I bid him goodnight and went to return to my common room, I could tell that he was still thinking about the issue with Slughorn and Dumbledore, but I shrugged it off. It _was_ rather unfortunate that they had walked past at that inopportune moment. But what's done is done- I couldn't think of anything Riddle could do to change it.

I should have known better.

The next morning, I followed Draco sleepily down to breakfast at the Gryffindor table. It felt good to have my appetite back since I was free from my corpus defessum, and I wasted no time in disgusting Draco in eating my pancakes with my newfound relish.

Because I was sitting on the side facing the Slytherin table I saw Riddle staring at the teacher's elevated table at the front off the Hall thoughtfully. I rolled my eyes and continued attacking my toast and when I glanced back up, the normally noisy breakfast chatter of the Hall had died down into almost dead silence and Riddle was sitting at the Gryffindor table across from me.

My fork and knife clattered to my plate.

"Good morning, Ariadne," Riddle said serenely. A shocked buzz ran through the crowd but he didn't seem to notice. "Are you enjoying your breakfast?"

"It's fine," I said, still stunned. "What are you doing here, Tom?"

Another, much louder buzz started at my use of Riddle's first name and I cursed myself for forgetting.

"I wanted to ask you something," Riddle said.

"You couldn't have asked me in Potions...?" I leaned in and asked, lowering my voice.

"I thought it would be better to see you in a... less formal setting."

I shrugged. "Go ahead, then."

"Would you like to attend the Christmas ball with me?"

There was a thud as one girl at the Hufflepuff table fainted and a muffled curse from someone at the Slytherin table. I narrowed my eyes at him and he continued to smile at me pleasantly. Then very deliberately, his eyes flickered to the teacher's table, where Dumbledore (and Slughorn probably) were watching us very carefully. I understood then, and for some reason I felt a massive rush of heat flood to my face until I was as red as a tomato. For crying out loud, I didn't even brush my hair this morning. Or my teeth. Was everyone seriously watching this?

With some difficultly, I focused back on Riddle and my cheeks flamed hotter. "Yes, Tom," I said calmly and Draco made a strangled sound next to me. "I'd love to."

He smiled angelically at me and I smiled back at him, even though I cringed internally with embarrassment. "I'm very glad. I suppose I'd better return to my table."

"Why, you aren't enjoying the Gryffindor decor?" I said half heartedly and a real smirk jumped to his face.

"It's not quite to my taste," he said, getting up. "Until later, Ariadne."

"Sure," I muttered and I gave him a look. _You are going to be in so much trouble later_, I vowed and the corner of his mouth twitched as if he had read my thoughts. Instead of returning to his table, he left the Great Hall entirely and almost immediately, whispered conversations broke out in the Hall in a wave of sound.

"-did you just see-"

"-I did-"

"-that exchange student-"

"-and Tom _Riddle_-"

"-definitely a Love Potion if I've ever seen one-"

I buried my burning face in my hands. Of course it would be news. Everything about Riddle was news. He'd rejected so many girls' advances before, too...I cringed as I saw two girls sobbing hysterically in each other's arms.

I glanced at the teacher's table again. Many were trying- and failing miserably- not to look interested in the commotion; Slughorn looked like the Cheshire cat that got its cream \and Dumbledore was watching me with a slightly troubled look.

"-look, she's even got a bit of egg on her face-"

Hastily wiping my chin, I stood.

"See you guys in the Room of Requirement later," I muttered to a catatonic Draco, and left the Great Hall as well.

I spent most of that day skulking in the corners and flattening myself against the walls when people passed me by in a futile attempt to avoid the stares, whispers and even worse, openly asked questions about my recipe for Amortentia. Back at home I had never received this kind of unwanted attention, if any and I was unsure how to handle it. It was probably the reason I only ever had one good friend for almost my entire school life.

I suppose it was strangely flattering in a way- until I remembered that they weren't admiring me but rather sizing me up. What did I have that they didn't? Was my hair shinier (it wasn't), were my lips perhaps poutier (they weren't) than theirs? And when they realized the glaring truth, which was not all that pleasant for me, they became frustrated and decided that it was all my fault. By tea time _alone_ my hair had been set on fire twice, my homework mysteriously disappeared from my bag and my shoes shrunk to three sizes too small.

I didn't think that Riddle had realized exactly how _popular_ he was among the ladies of Hogwarts until I hobbled past him in the corridors, my hair still smoking.

I sighed in relief as I entered the Room of Requirement, slamming the door shut behind me and then groaned with dread as I saw the expressions of Draco and the rest waiting for me. "I can explain-"

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Draco exploded.

"Draco, it's fine."

"NO IT'S NOT FINE YOU IDIOT-"

"Listen to me!" I said impatiently. "I _knew_ he was going to ask me."

A stunned silence filled the room.

"You knew?" Harry repeated as though sure he had heard me wrong.

"Look," I said, jumping over the back of the couch in front of me so that I was sitting facing them, "Slughorn was just getting on our nerves, a bit. Y'know, ever since the whole thing with the chandelier he's been trying to push us together and it was getting really irritating for us, so I suggested that if we did something that made it seem like we were...er...that way, then he'd leave us alone. No harm done."

"You suggested that?" Harry said doubtfully.

"I'll admit it isn't one of my best ideas," I said, "but what's done is done."

"You didn't look so certain of yourself this morning," Draco snapped.

"I didn't think he'd do it so publicly!" I defended myself. "It's not that bad, really. All I have to do is go to one measly dance with him, yeah?"

"I dunno, Ari," Ron said dubiously.

"It's really alright. Don't worry," I soothed them and kept up this string of encouragements until most of them, excluding Draco looked fractionally placated.

"We should all go too," Harry said decisively, "just in case anything...funny happens. Agreed?"

Ron shrugged and Hermione nodded. I on the other hand was most interested in Draco's response, which was to turn slightly pink. I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to read his expression and when I succeeded I gasped loudly.

"No," I said, staring at him in a kind of prideful awe. "You _didn't._"

"I haven't the faintest clue what you're talking about," Draco said evasively and the pink crept all the way down to his neck. My jaw dropped.

"You _did_!" I shouted and the others turned to look at us.

"What is it?" Ron said impatiently.

"He asked Augusta Burke out to the ball!" I yelled and there was a stunned silence. Ron wolf whistled.

"Very subtle, Ari," Draco said angrily.

"When did you ask her? _How_ did you ask her? Where were you?" I demanded, eager for details.

"I don't think that's any of your business," Draco said arrogantly, standing up. He made for the door but I leapt off the couch and tackled him to the ground.

"ARRGH—WHAT ARE YOU—"

"Tell me!" I insisted. There was a bang and I flew off of him, crashing into the back of the couch. Head spinning, I caught sight of the tail of Draco's robes as he ran from the Room and I snickered to myself.

"That bloke's got problems," Ron said amazed.

"Tell me about it."

888

"So you survived," Riddle said as I met him at the stone archway leading into the grounds. There was no moon tonight and so both our wands were lit as we made our way to the Forbidden Forest.

"Ha ha," I said sarcastically. "You couldn't have given me a warning or something?"

"It would have ruined the authenticity," Riddle replied, "although I did rather appreciate that blush."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," I spat. "Meanwhile, half my head's burned off, I have _two_ detentions with Radvire tomorrow for not turning in that damned essay on that damned Discombobulating Dragonsnap-"

"I have to admit, I didn't quite anticipate such a reaction," he said raising his brows.

"Neither did I," I said, "obviously."

Riddle chuckled lowly. "It'll grow back."

"Some things don't," I threatened him and he smirked. Despite myself, I was beginning to see the funny side of my situation, especially when Riddle was in this sort of mood. "I didn't realize the poem I sent you worked quite so well, _Tom_."

"Don't remind me," he said darkly. "I had no idea that you had such a way with words, Ari."

"So I'm told," I sighed. "I just didn't think you'd go this far just to prove a point."

He gave me a sideways glance. "You obviously don't know me very well."

"You know what I mean," I said glumly. "It's going to be awful."

"Is the idea of dancing with me that repulsive to you, Ariadne?" He said coolly but I detected the irritation in his voice.

"Do I look like the sort of person who prances around a ballroom to you, Riddle?" I snapped at him and after a moment's icy silence he looked me up and down and his face broke out into a smirk.

"I suppose I see your point," he said, amused.

"I don't even have a dress," I muttered, kicking at a nearby tree root. "Unless I could somehow reuse the gold one without anyone noticing..."

"No," Riddle said forbiddingly and I raised my eyebrows at him.

"No?"

"Absolutely not," he said firmly. "The Heir of Slytherin will not be seen escorting something vaguely resembling an English crumpet to the Hogwarts ball."

"The hell you won't," I said, amazed. "I'll wear what I want, Riddle."

He flashed me a charming smile. "We'll see about that, my dear Ariadne."

"Imma pop a cap in yo' ass," I muttered irritably at his back as he entered the familiar clearing. I walked to the middle warily.

"Can I see the ring?" I said and he removed it, giving it to me. I couldn't hold it more than a few seconds in my hand without giving in to temptation so I returned it to him.

"The thing about Horcruxes is," I began, looking around, "the ritual changes slightly each time based on the death used to split your soul. Because...each death will mean something different to you."

"How does it change the process?" Riddle said sharply.

I smiled without humor. "It'll hurt more."

He nodded thoughtfully. I remembered the excruciating pain that had struck me in the Room of Requirement and I winced, wondering how he could be so calm about the prospect. In a way, his determination frightened me slightly- Riddle was someone who would get his own way if it killed him. If he wanted to live forever, he would, with or without my help. If he wanted to become the most dangerous sorcerer in the world, he'd do it without batting an eyelid. Because he was Riddle.

"Shall we start then, Ariadne?"

I jolted out of my thoughts and looked at him. It was so easy to forget what he would become, sometimes. "Sure...you know what to do..."

After, I sat down next to him as he rested against the base of a nearby tree, keeping my wand lit between us.

"You were right," Riddle gasped slightly for breath, "that did hurt quite a bit more."

I remained silent and he noticed. Spitting the blood from his mouth and wiping it with his sleeve he said, "What is it?"

"Nothing," I shook my head. "I just...I think that we shouldn't make another Horcrux for a while. Give it a month, or something."

He fell silent and I readied myself for an argument. But, surprising me yet again, he simply closed his eyes and nodded.

"You agree?" I said stupidly.

"Even I have my limits."

The strength of the relief that washed over me was surprising. "Okay."

A not uncomfortable silence fell between us; his out of exhaustion and mine out of thoughtfulness as I tipped my head back to stare at the starry sky.

"What were they like?" I said. "Your grandparents, I mean."

I felt him tense.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," I said quickly. "It's just that I'm curious. I mean...I don't know if you've noticed, but you have quite the character, Riddle."

He stared blankly at the dark trees ahead and I was just about to give up any hope of him answering when he said, very quietly, "They were...kind."

"Kind?" I echoed. Of all the adjectives I would have chosen to describe Riddle's family 'kind' would have been far down on my list.

"The woman wanted grandchildren," he said thoughtfully, "so she was glad to have me there. And the man...I understood."

We were both wrapped in our own thoughts again- it was funny how with Tom, whose presence could be so overbearing, somehow gave me more time to myself than others. I didn't have to fill the silences or the gaps. I could just be. It was comforting. I didn't know many people like that- who could be their absolute worst, who could murder and rage and destroy- but who could repair and save in almost the same breath.

I glanced at his profile, very pale against the darkness of the Forest.

Did I consider Tom Riddle as...a friend?

My brow furrowed as I turned the idea over in my mind. It was hard to sort out the emotions involved in such a complex proposition. What was the difference between resentment and joy when they were so tangled together that one could not be felt without the other?

He was cold and bitter. He was fierce and real.

He could make me cry. He could make me laugh.

He murdered my parents. He saved my life.

Perhaps "friend" was too tame a title for someone like Tom Riddle. There was too much strong emotion involved to achieve any sort of equilibrium in regards to my feelings towards him; if I strived towards one of the dichotomy, its complement would seethe and struggle for control. Maybe...'not enemies'. Vague enough to make room for the inevitable clash without favoring the other. And it held a certain hopefulness to it, too.

Riddle and I were not enemies. We weren't exactly friends either, but our relationship was in no way neutral. I couldn't describe it, but maybe that was okay. Maybe, in this strange chapter of my life where so much had already been decided for me, a little indecisiveness was good.

I liked the thought.

"Thank you," I said out loud and he opened his eyes again to look at me. It was proof of what Time could do between two people that he understood what I left unsaid as well.

There was something in the stormy depths of his eyes that I couldn't quite place. He nodded slowly. And so, the rest of the night passed in silence between Tom Riddle and I.

**A/N: Reading the HP books, it was hard not to notice that each character had a particularly defining trait—for example, Hermione was clever and Harry was courageous. However, both of these were easily also their worst flaws—it made Hermione close-minded and led Harry to Sirius' death. So, I wanted Ari to have something like this—if you remember her Sorting in an earlier chapter, the Hat put the most emphasis on her 'kindness'. I wanted a character that had incredible empathy—someone who was able to understand and even forgive a character that was so despicably twisted. However, I wanted this to be her major fault as well, this kindness to the point of naivety. Because this is a romance story, I wanted her to be kind enough to like but stupid enough to fall in love with Tom Riddle.**

**And that's all I have to say on that. Let me know what you think!**


	19. Third

**Disclaimer: **I just play around with the characters, that's all.

**A/N:** Hi! Literally just got back from my two-week cruise—sorry for the delay and lack of replies to all your wonderful reviews! The moment I got home I just stomped to my computer and started finishing off this chapter. This chapter is something I've had in my head since I started this story, so it was easiest to write; it's pretty much like I had already written it before.

It has callbacks to **Chapter 1: Time** and **Chapter 11: Weary Body** because we're in that strange part of the story where certain scenes mirror those earlier...I've always liked bookends. Anyway, enough of that.

Here it is, the Christmas Ball and all. Enjoy!

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 18: Third**

_And so, the rest of the night passed in silence between Tom Riddle and I._

_Almost time,_ the First Fate said.

_No,_ replied her sister, the Second. _Not enough._

And then the Third Fate said this, an order, a command:

_Now._

888

"Stop singing," Riddle muttered and surprised, I shot him a sideways glance.

"Didn't realize I was," I said, gathering the shrivelfig I had just chopped and throwing it into our cauldron for today's class's Essence of Euphoria.

A few minutes passed and then Riddle said, "You're humming."

"Can you blame me?" I said, prodding at the violet flames underneath our cauldron. "Exams are finally over, we're nearing the end of term...and it's Christmas."

He didn't say anything and I tipped my head to look at him. "You could stand to be more cheerful."

"Humbug," he said dryly and I laughed, twirling the stalk of the archangel root between my fingers before slicing it in half and dumping it into our potion. I covered the cauldron with its lid and set the flames higher, then leaned back and sighed as I watched it simmer.

"You're getting better," Riddle noted as he wrote both our names in elegant hand on the label on our vial.

"Thank you," I said in surprise. "The potions exam was the only one I think I passed with flying colors, can you believe it?"

"I should think so," he said, amused. "What exactly were we doing every afternoon and night, Ariadne?"

"Don't let Slughorn hear you say that," I warned as the ginger haired Potions professor passed dangerously near our desks, "God forbid you ask me to marry you next."

Riddle smirked.

"I still remember my first Potions lesson," I said fondly, suddenly reminiscent, "The whole cauldron lit up and set my professor's beard on fire..."

Riddle bottled up the finished draught into the vial as I elapsed into a thoughtful silence, watching the swirls and whorls of steam rise from our cauldron.

"You know..." I said and he glanced at me, "...you're a good teacher, Tom."

"Was that a compliment, Ariadne?" he said wryly.

"Yes."

He seemed slightly surprised by the bluntness of my answer and another silence fell over us; he stared out the window while I flicked my eyes over my completed Charms essay, which was due today and which I had just finished last night.

"It has occurred to me before," he said quietly and I looked up from the parchment, frowning. "The idea of returning to Hogwarts to teach."

I put my essay down and turned in my seat so that my whole body was facing him. "Why don't you then?"

His answering stare was not quite cold but there was a certain hardness in his gaze that was not previously present. "No one has ever been remembered in the pages in history for merely _teaching_, Ariadne."

"That's a shame," I said softly. He watched me coolly as I propped my elbow on the table and leaned my head into my hand. "Out of curiosity, though, what subject would you have wanted to do?"

Tom smiled thinly. "I think you already know the answer."

"Of course," I grinned ruefully. "You are a walking contradiction, Riddle."

"One must have sufficient knowledge of the Arts before one can defend themselves against it fully, no?"

"I think in your case, your knowledge is slightly more than sufficient," I pointed out; he smirked again.

Then, having gone through most of the class, Slughorn came to a stop beside our paired desks to test our potion. He gave its sunshine yellow contents a deep sniff before straightening up and smiling broadly at us. "Up to your usual standard again, you two, although I shouldn't be surprised!"

He chuckled; I grinned in response and Riddle managed a slight curve of his mouth.

"Thanks, professor," I said, sincerely proud of my progress (which was nothing short of miraculous) and Tom inclined his head modestly. We both expected the potions master to leave then and examine the other cauldrons; however, we were both unsurprised when Slughorn chose to stay behind instead with an expression akin to a co-conspirator.

"So, Tom, m'boy...I heard along the grapevine that you are taking this lovely young lady to the Christmas ball?" He winked.

"Yes, that's right, sir," Riddle replied and I had to admire his composure, for suddenly the Potions room was far hotter than it had been earlier.

Slughorn's enormous ginger moustache seemed to quiver in excitement. "Well then, I shall be very glad to see you both there...I must say, I have never yet been wrong about any student yet..."

And, with another ostentatious wink in my direction, he was gone.

"I still can't believe this," I muttered into my hands.

"Excited, Ari?" he said dryly.

I ignored this, choosing instead to ask, "Could you at least tell me what to expect on the night itself? I mean...how does this all work?"

"I wouldn't know," he said carelessly, "I've never been to one before."

"You—" I gasped; my mouth open and closed mutely like a ridiculous impersonation of a goldfish and I gave up and buried my face in my hands. He had never even gone to—God! No _wonder_ everyone was so mad at me. And Riddle, for all his excessive intuition and foresight, could not grasp that this crucial information was worth telling me prior to their ruthless attacks of jealousy on my person?

"I've never had reason to," Tom continued calmly. "Frankly, I've always thought they were a waste of time."

"Tom..." But the words of irritation did not come; instead a well of uncontrollable laughter bubbled up and then hastily stifled snorts that were both incredulous and exasperated burst out of my mouth.

"Ari?" he questioned impassively.

"You're really very odd," I said.

He inclined his head but there was a faint curve to his mouth as he said wryly, "Likewise, Ariadne."

888

A few days later found me strolling the halls with Draco, humming Christmas carols under my breath. It was another of our free periods between classes that had eased up as the we crept closer to the 25th; most of the teachers left us to amuse ourselves in the classroom and so I was in the middle of casting a drying spell over the two of us, having just finished a rather thrilling water battle (Draco had finally learned how to perform the Aguamenti Charm).

We were—or at least, _I_ was—admiring the decorations that some of the Hogwarts students were putting up around the castle. Lush, dark green Christmas garlands bejewelled with tiny golden lights were being set over the stone archways of the corridors and around pillars and banisters where living birds then quietly made their nests; mistletoe was snuck into the framework of cozy corners and doorways; towering pine trees were being levitated in by the teachers and decorated with a multitude of glowing, delicate baubles complete with a Christmas angel that rather than singing, swore loudly at unwary passersby that came too close to its tree; giant, velvet red bows were placed unceremoniously on several of the uglier-looking gargoyles whose expressions grew more disgruntled with each passing day; fairy lights were being slung over suits of armor and on one, its wicked looking mace was replaced by a decidedly less terrifying giant candy cane and finally, flowers were being arranged to fill up any available jar, vase or pot.

We happened to being walking past one of the long tables where the flower arranging was taking place; rows of blossoms of every kind lay in a graceful jumble on the table. The smell that struck us as we passed was staggering; it was like walking into a perfume store. Intrigued, I lagged behind to watch the students and was amazed when I caught Riddle as one of them, looking faintly harassed as he grimly fluffed a rather large bundle of pink chrysanthemums.

Leaving Draco, I wandered over to the table, quietly slipping through until I was right next to him. He was still concentrating on the bouquet with an irritable expression so he didn't notice me. I carefully took a chrysanthemum from his pile and he looked up, his face like thunder. I smiled and said, "Need a hand?"

"I'm perfectly fine," he said coldly at last, having realized it was only me.

I twirled the flower's stem between my fingers. "You're sure about that?"

His voice thick with suppressed rage, he said, "Absolutely."

Then he sneezed and his face turned murderous.

"Here," I said quickly, taking the bouquet from him and rearranging it myself. "These are for the dance? It's fine, I'm on the committee as well."

"Why am I even surprised?" he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as he grimaced.

"Christmas is my favourite holiday, Tom," I said serenely. I couldn't help but wonder why he had joined the student group as well, considering his present distaste and earlier apathy but this question was quickly and unexpectedly answered when a younger, solemn-faced Ravenclaw girl approached him, her face tight with anxiety.

"I really want to thank you again for this—you have no idea how glad I am that you joined, work has speeded up so much since you joined, it's amazing..."

Riddle, having straightened up at her approach, replied in a voice that was unrecognizably polite, "It's quite alright, really, Miss Odair."

Clearly, she was a novice to Riddle's charm for her whole face colored and it took her a moment to find her words.

"Thank you!" the girl blurted out again and she ran off to another group of students and began to hurriedly instruct them on the correct way to thread the amaryllises through the garlands. I recognized her now; she was a fifth year and the president of the student committee for the Christmas ball.

I raised my eyebrows at Riddle but he ignored the unspoken question, choosing instead to take up another enormous bundle of chrysanthemums, white this time. Immediately, I took the bouquet from his arms and he exhaled sharply in annoyance and exasperation. "Ariadne, why do keep on taking my flowers?"

"Not all of them," I conceded, "only these."

I caught his expression and added, "You're allergic to chrysanthemums."

"I am not—" Riddle began furiously but was cut off by a series of sneezes; I took the rest of the bouquet from him while he rode it out. When he recovered, he frowned at me. "How did you...?"

"Please." I said flatly. "I've worked with you every single night and day for the past few months now, Tom. What did you expect?"

He was silent for a moment while I busied myself with the flowers then unexpectedly, he said, "Go on, then."

"Sorry?"

He looked directly into my eyes and smirked as he spread his hands wide. "Tell me what you know."

Although I was rather taken aback by his sudden change in mood, instinctively I responded to the muted challenge in his tone; I narrowed my eyes at him. "Fine. Er..." As I thought, I absentmindedly arranged the white blooms in their bouquet. "...for starters, you're allergic to chrysanthemums."

"Obviously," he said.

"You hate cats," I recalled and an expression of surprise flitted across his face before he schooled it back to neutrality, "because you don't like the way they rub against your legs. Your favourite color is green. You love books and you're not picky about what you read—I know this because I once left my copy of _Cooking with Cthulhu_ on your desk by accident and it was gone by the time I returned to get it, and then I found it in my bag the next day...you can stand Quidditch but you don't consider it important enough to follow. You like snow but prefer storms. And..." I cast my mind around, "...you sleep on the left hand side of the bed."

Riddle stared at me with an expression close to incredulity and I smirked. "Well? How did I do?"

He quickly recovered himself enough to say dryly, "All right except for one, I'm afraid, Ariadne."

"Oh?"

He met my gaze coolly. "I sleep on the right side of the bed."

"No, you don't," I said and Riddle raised his eyebrows. "You start off sleeping on the right side but you make your way to the left before the night's over. You toss a lot in your sleep."

He stared again and I said, by way of explanation, "Overnight shifts."

On the rare occasions where Riddle was too exhausted to stop himself from dozing off and I was too alert to do the same, I'd seen the Room transform the desk he had been using into a wide, double bed. I'd witness him do what I had described myself, although I wasn't sure why it had stuck in my memory—probably because I had always assumed he was a peaceful sleeper.

"I'm surprised," Tom said quietly, "I didn't realize you were watching me so closely."

"What am I, a rock?" I said testily. "I can't help what I notice about you, Riddle...although," I said slyly, "I've never seen this side of you."

I nodded at the Ravenclaw fifth-year. "What was all that about?"

Riddle's amused expression grew irritable. "They didn't have enough volunteers for the dance committee," he said shortly. "She asked me yesterday."

"And you agreed?" I said disbelievingly.

"She asked me nicely," He said coldly and gave me a pointed look. I was reminded of the way I had blackmailed him into helping me with my corpus and I winced, returning back to the array of multicoloured blooms in front of me.

"Well, _you_ could stand to pay a little attention," I said, only half joking, trying to lighten the mood. I glanced up at him and was surprised that it had worked, for one side of his mouth was quirked up and he looked very amused.

"If you say so, Ariadne," he said and I frowned. He made a short bow from the waist and left me amidst the flowers and I followed his figure out of the Hall with my eyes, still frowning. I returned back to coaxing the blooms into their bundles but I froze when I saw the small, but striking bouquet of deep red poinsettias sitting quietly on the spare inches of bare table that Riddle had presided over. They were the flowers that I had given him when I had sent him that song, asking him to work with me...my most favorite flowers because they weren't really flowers at all...

Gently, I touched their deep, velvet red leaves and I glanced up in the direction that he left.

I half smiled.

888

The rest of the days leading up to the dance passed by so fast it was almost a blur; classes grew wilder and wilder (save for History of Magic, which remained as wearisome as ever), and when I wasn't out in the snow with Draco and the others, I mostly kept to myself in the castle, enjoying the warmth of the roaring fireplaces and the frantic but cheerful buzz of the students either preparing for the dance or packing for their upcoming holidays. I didn't see Riddle that much even though we were supposed to be fixing up the decorations for the dance together; we had different jobs. I only saw him a handful of times before the actual day; the first was on a late Sunday, when I was feeling slightly homesick.

I shuffled the cards in my hands as I perched on the stone windowsill of one of my favourite stained glass windows; it depicted a short, armoured knight struggling to climb onto a fat, grey pony. I ignored the few curious stares I received from only a minority of the students that walked past; they still made me uncomfortable, but I was almost used to them by now so this did not bother me as it once had.

I put down the cards in front of me in the familiar setup for solitaire and I began to play, enjoying the warm rays of sunlight that streamed through the window as I did so. I played through five games; I was on my sixth by the time Riddle stopped somewhere behind my right shoulder and began to watch my game. I continued until I had won, then collected the cards in my hand and began to shuffle them absentmindedly. I tipped my head back to meet his stormy eyes and smiled. "Hello."

"Hello," he replied. "I didn't realize you enjoyed card games."

"Ah, well, they pass the time," I said airily, cutting the deck in half and reshuffling them. "Card games were a big thing in my family; we'd play them after dinner, at picnics, or during blackouts by candlelight..." I trailed off. "I found this pack when I was doing Radvire's detention—he made me throw out a bunch of stuff in lost property and I decided to keep them for myself."

Riddle arched his eyebrows at this and I smiled mischievously. I gestured at the space in front of me. "Would you care to join me?"

"I would have thought you wouldn't appreciate the company, considering your game."

"No, I'm feeling rather lonely, actually," I admitted, setting the cards down. "Come on, Riddle. We could play Go Fish. Or Cheat, or Old Maid...or strip poker, if you like," I said smirking.

"I'd rather watch you play solitaire again," Riddle said dryly but he sat down across from me and I chuckled as I moved my legs to make room for him.

"Your loss," I said, dealing the cards again and his mouth curved slightly as he watched me play another game.

The next time I saw him, I was in the Library with Myrtle—who had surprisingly also volunteered for the committee as well—and I had spotted him by one of the far windows, scribbling something on a roll of parchment. I narrowed my eyes at his head bent down over his parchment and he looked up, frowning as he scanned the Library. When he met my gaze I grinned at him and returned back to the list between Myrtle and I.

"Okay, so we've got the flowers, the band...not really sure about the 'Walloping Wendigos', although it was certainly better than the 'Bangin' Banshees' though...what is it?" I said, noticing Myrtle's suspicious look over her thick glasses.

"Is there something going on between you and that Slytherin Prefect?" She said.

"Why, d'you reckon he likes me?" I said lazily, crossing off another few items off the list. I yawned, feeling very tired even though it was already late in the afternoon.

"No," she said petulantly, "I think you do."

I stopped mid cross and looked up at her in shock. "Excuse me?"

"You do, don't you," she said smugly. "I can tell."

"What makes you think I like him?" I said disbelievingly.

"You're always staring at him," she said, picking at a spot on her chin, "and then you make that face like-" She put on a silly, sloppy grin that looked so out of place on Myrtle's heavy, glum features that I could only stare. It took me awhile to find my voice.

"I do _not_-" I began loudly and someone at another table shushed me. "I do _not_ make that face," I whispered fiercely, "and I do _not _fancy Tom Riddle. He's my Potions partner, that is all."

"I heard he was taking you to the Christmas dance," she said smugly.

My face colored and I stood up, rolling up the list back into a scroll.

"Everything's sorted out," I said shortly. "I'll see you."

Leaving the Library in quick, hurried strides I realized for the first time why most people were unwilling to work with Myrtle. She was so _pushy_. Honestly, no wonder why no one liked her around—

I cringed. I was being unfair; I rather enjoyed her company sometimes when she wasn't sobbing in bathrooms, which she did much less nowadays now that Hornby was...well. I don't even know why I had been so offended in the first place- it was probably that stupid grin. I did _not_ look like that. Especially not at Riddle.

I rubbed my eyes, stopping by a nearby window. What nonsense, to say that I thought of him like that! I mean _really_. How utterly ridiculous.

"She's got it all wrong," I muttered darkly. "Look at him, honestly..."

"Talking to yourself is a sign of madness, Ariadne," came an amused voice behind me and I jumped.

"Hark, who's talking," I replied testily and he arched a brow elegantly. "What is it, Tom?"

"I just need to check up on your progress," he said languidly, "seeing as I'm overseeing the preparations of that area."

"What a load of rubbish," I said, amused. "You hate this job."

"Pehaps simply 'intense dislike' would be more suitable, " Riddle conceded, "but, alas, here I am."

He smiled slightly and I smirked back. It was his own fault really...he was too polite for his own good...

My grin slipped as I remembered Myrtle's words earlier: _do you like Tom Riddle?_

Certainly there were aspects of him that I liked. He was clever of course, but anyone could be clever nowadays. It was hard to describe without resorting to lists of characteristics: clever, proud, arrogant. Anyone could have them and because anyone could have them, they were aggressively anti-Riddle.

I liked...the way he twirled his wand between his fingers when he was deep in thought. How I could make a passing comment and he could repeat it to me word for word, months later. How terrifyingly calm he could be and how this was somehow worse to me than his mindless rage. Or how he could stand at the very brink of madness and still come back to offer a small comfort in the form of a handkerchief.

These things, and not his ambition and dark power, were what I saw when I looked at him. What made me see Tom Riddle instead of Lord Voldemort.

Suddenly I was looking at him as if I'd never seen him before; my eyes were wide as I studied his face. He really was very handsome- the thought struck me again- but that was not what I was concentrating on. When I had looked into his eyes so long before- red not grey- I had felt only hatred, fear and unease. This was the man who ripped me from my life into a world of fantasy. Who had killed not just my own, but hundreds of families, all in hopes of his selfish, desperate search for power.

But now, when I looked into them- grey not red- I felt...I felt...safe, somehow. Because nothing could harm me when I was with Tom- except of course, Riddle himself. And glad. I felt glad. This was the boy who would take on a pointless school duty just because someone had asked him nicely, who remembered something as inconsequential as my favourite flower, who would sit and watch me play cards because I told him I was lonely. That was _my_ Tom Riddle.

"Ariadne."

I realized that I had been staring very intensely into his eyes for the past few minutes and all the blood rose to my face. I took a step back quickly. "I didn't-"

My mind was whirling; my thoughts were too jumbled to make any sort of sense. What was going on? What was I thinking? That I...that I _liked_...?

I swore very loudly.

"I didn't realize you felt that way, Ariadne," came Riddle's voice, sounding faintly amused and I slammed back into reality in an instant.

"What?" I said sharply and he raised a brow. I reconsidered my choice of my last words and the high level of detail with which it was articulated and horrified, realized that it was far worse than any sort of declaration of feeling.

"Sorry," I muttered, turning away; it was suddenly very hard to meet his eyes. "Look...er...everything's done on Myrtle's and my part. Just...er...don't worry. And I guess...I'll see you on the night."

"I suppose you will," Riddle said, watching me carefully.

"Hrm. Yes. Well. Goodbye." I waved awkwardly, barely able to look at him and all but sprinted in the opposite direction.

888

Goddammit, everything was awkward now.

I hadn't spoken properly to Riddle or Draco in nearly a week. With Riddle it was because I had suddenly become mysteriously tongue-tied around him; I had to thank my lucky stars several times that we had put his Horcruxes on hold. Potions classes were embarrassing enough when we were surrounded by an entire classroom of people in broad daylight; what more in the middle of the night, when it was just the two of us? What was I supposed to say, exactly? "Hiya, Tom. Listen d'you wanna go out and have a cuppa some time after I help you mutilate your soul?"

Fantastic. Absolutely brilliant, I was. A right Shakespeare.

And with Draco...guilt, as usual was worming its way into my stomach. It was like when I first made the decision to help Riddle with his Horcruxes. I could only hope that this was just a silly phase I was going through- there was surely not a single person that had _not_ been charmed by Tom Riddle at some point. This had to be inevitable, right?

Still, a nasty voice whispered in the back of my mind, how many other people can claim that they know him like you do?

Shut up, I promptly responded.

I just had hoped that he wouldn't notice. But then, I reasoned, that shouldn't be a problem seeing as I was so much more aware of him than he was of me.

"You've been avoiding me," Riddle said quietly as we were leaving the Potions classroom and I jumped as if he had shouted.

"What makes you say that?" I said evasively. He responded by gripping tightly onto my elbow and steering me quickly but smoothly into the next deserted corridor.

I winced and rubbed my arm once he let go. I glared at him. "What's your problem?"

"I want to know what you are hiding from me," he said expressionlessly.

"You think I'm hiding something from you?" I said angrily. I wasn't so much embarrassed now as irritated. Even after all this time, his paranoia still caught me by surprise. "When did I ever give you the idea that I was untrustworthy, Riddle?"

A shadow of doubt passed over his features before they became blank once more. "I don't trust anyone," he said flatly.

"Well fantastic!" I said, my temper flaring, "because I trusted you!"

Something like surprise flickered in his eyes and he narrowed them at me as if to determine if I was lying. It was stupid to admit that I was stung by his last comment but nevertheless, I was. 'Lord Voldemort prefers to operate alone,' I remembered and now I bitterly wondered why I had ever thought otherwise.

We were both glaring at each other now, neither of us speaking. Then a curious change of expression wandered over Riddle's face; his eyes widened and his lips parted as if in surprise.

"What?" I said. "What is it?"

I put a hand to my face and looked down; it came away red. My breath caught. I replayed the events of the past few weeks furiously in my mind- how long was it since I had begun to feel fatigued? How much longer until I was too exhausted to do even the simplest tasks? How much longer until I choked on my own rotting blood? Until I died?

Horrified, I staggered away from him.

"Ariadne-"

It was back. My corpus defessum. The potion—it hadn't—

I started running, as if somehow that would give me more Time, as if it wasn't exhausting my ruined body further. It wasn't fair. Or maybe it was? Maybe I _deserved_...?

I felt a hand close over my elbow and I pushed him off although I was surprised that he had followed me. Nevertheless, I stopped running and collapsed against the stone walls of the corridor instead, breathing hard. Riddle stopped too and stood in front of me, panting slightly.

I buried my face in my hands and slid down into a half crouching, half sitting position against the wall. There was a long silence during which I felt Riddle's eyes bore into me.

I thought of my best friend, whose face I knew I was never going to see again. I thought of Ron, Harry and Hermione. I thought of Draco. I thought of my parents. Such kind and wonderful and _good _people that I had known, yet my time with them was always cut short.

I thought of Riddle.

"I wish I had more Time," I whispered.

There was a rustle of fabric as Tom crouched down so that his face was in level with my own, and wearily, I looked at him. His eyes were very dark.

"I made a deal," he said quietly, "and I fully intend to fulfil it."

"But what if-"

He laid a finger lightly over my mouth to silence me and I did as though I had been struck dumb. Tom smiled grimly. "I thought you trusted me, Ariadne."

"I do, but-"

"But?"

My mouth trembled. "What if...I deserve...?"

His gaze hardened and I fell silent, suddenly afraid. "No," he said quietly. "Not like this."

My throat tight, I looked down at my hands, clenched tightly around the folds of my skirt. There was so much strong emotion I was feeling- and yet I couldn't even name one of them.

"Okay," I said finally. "Tom."

888

I took a deep breath as I began to pace in front of the blank stretch of wall in front to me. _I need the place where everything is hidden...I need the place where everything is hidden...I need..._

The familiar double door melted into sight and I tugged on its handle, slipping quietly into the Room.

"Lumos," I whispered, and my wand tip glowed. I wandered further into the cavernous room roughly the size of a large cathedral. Moonlight shone from its high windows onto what looked like a maze of towering walls of junk: heavily graffitied books and worn articles of clothing, and sinister looking bottles of unknown potions and stone angels that moved...

I shivered and rushed into one of the friendlier looking alleyways, letting the light from my wand guide me. After some minutes strolling amidst the junk I finally alighted upon a wooden cabinet that looked vaguely promising and I opened it.

A few moths fluttered out and I batted them away, concentrating hard on the slightly battered articles of clothing inside. There was a torn burgundy velvet cloak and a number of old dress. There was green frock that caught my eye but when I pulled it off its hanger I saw that it was splattered liberally with a substance that looked suspiciously like blood and disgusted, I put it back.

Feeling disappointed, I wandered down another alley. The reason why I was going through dusty dressers in the middle of the night was as embarrassing as it was necessary: I needed to find a dress for the Christmas ball. I had been incredibly tempted to use the gold dress just to spite Riddle but I had decided against it given certain...changes on my part. I didn't want to return back to Gladrags to buy another dress with Hermione because I felt slightly uncomfortable using the funds given to us by the school to buy anything more than was necessary. So, seeing as it had never failed me yet, I had decided to take a look through the Room of Requirement.

However, having gone through at least five more cabinets and finding nothing except a few more battered set of dress robes and in one particularly horrifying cupboard, a five legged creature that had hissed at me until I shut the doors, I was ready to call it a night.

I was walking down the last alleyway when a blinding pain struck my head; I stumbled into one of the armored knights and sent it crashing down to the floor. As abruptly as the pain had arrived it vanished and panting shakily, I opened my eyes. Stunned at what I saw, I closed them again, hoping that I was experiencing a brief hallucination but when I reopened them, nothing had changed.

Threads. Red threads that wrapped around my arms and legs and even my wand, red, red wires that stretched out in a dozen different directions. Shakily I stood up and cautiously touched one; my finger passed through it as if it were nothing but air. It was like the day I had found Riddle in the Forest...but what was it that made me see...?

There was a crash from somewhere in the Room and I jumped. I glanced down and shocked, noticed that one of the red threads was vibrating, almost _humming _with the movement. I followed it with my eyes and saw that it led to the direction of the noise. Swallowing hard and readjusting my grip on my wand, I followed the Thread as quietly as I could through the various alleys of forgotten and lost objects. It led me deep into the heart of the maze and I noticed that the items used to make up the towering walls seemed older here, as if from a different era. There was a spinning wheel, its spindle glowing a poisonous green; there was a set of ancient armor so rusted that it crumbled into nothing as soon as I touched it; there was an iron maiden whose cold eyes seemed to follow me as I walked past it.

Finally I reached the place that the Thread seemed to lead to (for here it stopped thrumming and became silent once more) and I saw an ancient, medieval looking sword lying on the floor. Realizing that this was what had made the crash, I picked it up and set it carefully to the side. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something pale move suddenly and I stumbled backwards in fright, tripping over the sword so that I landed on the ground.

It was a dress. My rapidly beating heart calmed down somewhat and I stood up unsteadily. Just a dress...how thick was I to be scared by that? I'd met ghosts before and they had been perfectly lovely. What was there to fear?

Choosing not to answer that question, I approached the dress that moved in the slight wind coming from one of the open windows. It was a pale ivory color that glittered in the moonlight; its full, shimmering skirt brushed the floor as it moved. Its semi transparent, delicately embroidered sleeves looked like it would only come up mid elbow and the embroidery extended past the basque waist of its bodice and disappeared into the folds of its skirt. The dress was devastatingly simple but infinitely lovely. Still, I was hesitant to touch it.

What was a dress like this doing here? It was clearly very old but it looked unworn and untouched by nothing but Time, for age had yellowed it very slightly around its cuffs and the hem of its skirt. I knew I was being ridiculous- but I couldn't shake off the idea that an air of tragedy and disaster hung about it like a sickness.

Gently, I removed it from its position thrown inconsiderately over the back of a chair and folded it carefully in my arms. Then, it was with a feeling of immense relief that I followed the red Thread out of the maze, where they faded away into nothing as I made my way back to the Gryffindor Tower.

888

"Duck!" Ron yelled and I did, just in time for one of Harry's snowballs to zoom over my head. I whooped and lobbed another at him with a renewed desire for vengeance.

It was the last day of school and coincidentally, the night of the Christmas ball before everyone left for the Christmas holidays. All day I had been strangely twitchy and fidgety- I couldn't seem to keep still. Sitting through my final History of Magic lesson had been pure torture; all I had accomplished during that time was to chuck paper planes at Draco until he threatened to jinx me.

So, I was glad to get outside and enjoy the December snow with the others and find something to do with my arms and legs. Riddle had said not to do anything exhaustive- but this took away some of the anxiety I was feeling about tonight so I chose to ignore his advice, not for the first time.

"It's getting late; I better go get ready," Hermione said anxiously as the five o' clock chime of the belltower sounded.

I spat out the snow in my mouth and nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I reckon that's a good idea."

"How much time do you need?" Draco said incredulously, his face rubbed a raw pink from the chilly wind. I waved at him and the others and started up to the castle with Hermione.

"So," she said, once we were inside, "Tom Riddle."

"Yeah," I tried to laugh off my awkwardness, "it's stupid, isn't it?"

"It's dangerous," she said quietly. I groaned lightly.

"I know, Hermione," I said. "But I can handle myself if he tries to do anything funny-"

"That's not what I mean," she cut in and her expression was worried but determined. I stared at her.

"I don't understand," I lied.

She gave me a meaningful look. "Just remember what we're here for, Ari," she said quietly.

Aghast, I watched her leave, her bronze and blue scarf trailing behind her. She didn't-she _couldn't_—

She didn't _know_, did she?

First Myrtle, then her. I wasn't that obvious, was I? Deeply troubled, I wandered back to the Gryffindor Tower where I showered and did strange things to my hair and face to get ready. I was still worrying about her reply as I got out of the bathroom, towelling dry my hair.

Had she told the others?

No, I dismissed the idea immediately, Hermione was not cruel and she knew better than to give voice to such rash suspicions on such a delicate topic to anyone else. Still...

I really, really hoped that this was just a phase.

I decided not to think about it for the time being- another thing added to the growing pile. Instead, I sat myself in front of the small mirror above the girls' dresser and contemplated what to do with my hair. It was quite long now, I noticed with surprise; it reached just below my shoulders.

Absentmindedly, I twirled a lock around my fingers. It was generally accepted that when it came to everyday use, I held my hair in the same regard that I did thumbtacks: necessary, but a pain to deal with everyday. However that didn't mean that I couldn't do anything with it if I tried. And for tonight...well, I really _was_ trying.

Knowing that this task would take a good part of the next three hours, I began.

888

"For God's sake, Ari, are you finished yet?"

I inhaled slowly but the action left me strangely breathless. "Yes," I said. "Just give me a minute."

I took another deep breath. And then I left the girl's dormitory descending down the stairs into the common room where Draco, looking severe but sharp in plain black dress robes, was waiting for me.

"Finally," he said when I reached the bottom. "What on earth took—"

He stopped mid sentence and gaped at me.

"Well," I said suddenly feeling very shy, "what do you think?"

"I..."

Twisting my hands nervously behind my back, I waited.

He seemed to regain his composure; he shook his head as if to clear it. "...is that really you, de Lioncourt?"

"I don't know if that's really any sort of compliment," I said dryly, "but I'll take it."

"No," Draco said quickly, "you look...well...hideous."

I gave an unwilling snort and made to run my hand through my hair sheepishly but stopped just inches away from the intricate mess of dark braids and curls I had painstakingly coaxed it into. It now hung, half up and half down against my back but away from my forehead in a way that I had vainly known would show the best of my heart-shaped face. It _was_ a bit elaborate, but seeing as I owned no jewellery or any sort of makeup to use, I had to make the best out of what I had.

"Where did you get that dress?" Draco said, squinting at me.

"I found it," I replied, crossing my arms over my chest, "in the Room."

I was surprised to find that it had fit me so well (except of course in certain key areas, such as the bust and waist but no matter, I'd Shrunk both of them); it hung just off the shoulder and flared out gracefully from just below my waist, falling to the floor in an aura of flowing ivory fabric. My only real concern was the back, where it, er..._dipped_ much further than I had realized, or thought necessary, just reaching my mid back. My face turned bright red and I started to sweat bullets whenever I thought about it so I quickly checked the clock above the fireplace. "Er...should we get going?"

"Yeah," Draco said, still sounding a little bit bemused, "Yeah, sure."

I smirked. "Well don't _stare_, Draco."

His face flamed pink and he stalked away from me; chuckling and slightly flattered, I followed him.

The dance was supposed to take place in the Great Hall but the decorations extended beyond that, into the part of the castle that had been assigned to Riddle specifically; once again, I had to marvel at Riddle's organization skills as a twittering bunch of woodland fairies burst out of one of the ornamental pale white flowers whose vines were entwined around the stone pillars and began to hum Christmas songs in high, reedy voices as Draco and I passed them.

"This is amazing," I breathed, tugging my skirt up so that I didn't step on it as I stepped up onto the base of the pillar to examine the flowers more closely.

"We don't have time to just gawk at flowers, Ari-" Draco snapped and then broke off into a sort of strangled noise of outrage. "Your _shoes_-"

I looked down; a sheepish grin crossed my face as I clacked Dumbledore's brown clogs together. "What? I _said_ I didn't have any other pairs..."

He gave me an incredulous look and took off without me; hurriedly, I caught up with him.

"So, when are you meeting Augusta?" I asked him cheerfully.

"I'm not," Draco said shortly. "I'm going to find her on the dance floor."

"How romantic you are," I said and he rolled his eyes.

"What about you, when are you meeting-" But his expression darkened and he did not finish his question.

"At nine, in front of the Great Hall," I answered, ignoring his sour look. "He still has his Prefect duties, so I've got a free hour."

"Wonderful," Draco said sarcastically and I ignored this comment as we both walked through the doors of the Great Hall. Somehow it had transformed overnight into a Winter Wonderland and it was, needless to say, breathtaking. Snowflakes fell from the enchanted ceiling even though it was fairly warm inside and circular tables surrounded the center of the Hall (which had been cleared, no doubt, for dancing). More of Riddle's flowers were twirled around the Hall's pillars and at the front, a manless orchestra played a familiar Christmas tune.

We found Harry, Ron and Hermione and took a table for ourselves. My giddiness seemed to magnify tenfold as I watched some of the other couples step onto the floor and begin to do a strict waltz; I felt as though I were living in a dream as dress robes of every color imaginable twirled past our table, although none appeared to be as pale as mine.

"This is very nice, isn't it?" Hermione said, her face flushing pink to match her rose colored dress robes as she looked around. "It reminds me of the Yule Ball, a little bit..."

"Shall we, then?" Ron said abruptly, nodding his head towards the floor and Hermione raised her eyebrows, her cheeks coloring but accepted, standing up and taking his hand. Harry grinned; Draco scowled and I wolf whistled as they began to revolve on the spot and both ignored us with identical, very dignified looks.

"Hey," I said suddenly, "Draco, there she is...the one in lavender..."

"Good God," he muttered, getting up and I clapped him encouragingly on the back as he trotted off in her direction. Soon, they too were revolving on the floor and I could barely contain my wide smirk as I watched them.

Harry cleared his throat and gestured in their direction. "Would you like to..."

I shrugged. "Sure."

Carefully disentangling my dress, I walked to the dance floor with Harry. We took up the standard waltz position and I muttered, "Just so you know, I can't dance to save my life."

"Neither can I," he muttered back, looking faintly relieved. "...ready? One, two, three...one, two, three..."

We managed a passable shuffle that was laughable in comparison to the sophisticated whirling and twirling of the more experienced students but I didn't care: I was having fun. We continued to do this for the next few songs, ignoring any change in tempo much to the distaste of those that bumped into us, and when the last song ended, I let go of him.

"Tough stuff, this business," I wheezed and he laughed. "I have to meet To- Riddle, it's nearly nine."

Harry's mouth thinned into a grim line and I said goodbye, returning back to the entrance of the Great Hall.

As soon as I left him, my heart started pounding double-time and my palms began to sweat; the giddiness that had originated in the pit of my stomach now culminated in a bubbling wave so powerful I had to take several deep, gasping breaths.

God, get over yourself! I wanted to shout but several people who had not been dancing were now watching me in interest, no doubt having recognized me as Tom Riddle's partner for the ball. I hastened towards the Hall's entrance and stepped off to the side, out of sight despite the fact that some people were now craning their necks, and breathed a sigh of relief.

I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall. Although I should have been fatigued because of my corpus, there was an excited buzz in my limbs that made me extremely restless; I paced the length of the floor outside the Hall several times until the chime of the clock tower informed me that it was already nine.

Immediately I stopped moving, as if frozen in place. My heart thudded wildly in my chest as I straightened up. Self consciously, I touched the curls of my hair and smoothed out the skirts of my dress and then immediately felt stupid for doing so.

The last chime of the clock sounded and I anxiously looked around. No sign of him yet. I felt all at once both relieved and disappointed; I began to pace the floor again.

A little while later Riddle still hadn't arrived and I became slightly worried; my pacing grew more frantic. But although it was indeed very unusual for him to be this late, I was not overly troubled, for I was certain that he would arrive.

I did not feel the same way two hours later.

Sitting on the ground beside the entrance of the Great Hall, my arms wrapped around my knees, I heard someone step out; the sounds of music and laughter grew louder and then were muted once more as, with some difficulty, he pushed the double doors partially shut behind him. I didn't look up to know who it was.

"Are you okay?" Harry said quietly and I gave him a wide smile.

"Yes," I said in a voice that sounded much higher than my own. "Yes, of course, I'm fine..."

There was a look close to pitying on his face and I cleared my throat.

"Listen, I think I'm just going to get some air...clear my head a bit, you know?"

He nodded quickly. "Yeah, of course."

As I turned to leave, he called out, "Ari?"

I turned around.

"You do look...er...nice tonight," he said awkwardly.

That did it for me; hot, humiliated tears sprung to my eyes and I looked away quickly.

"Thanks," I heard myself say and then I ran for it.

Once I was in a dark and thankfully deserted corridor far away from even the music of the Great Hall, I wiped my stinging eyes angrily with the palms of my hands. Confusion and hurt battled resentment and fury as I thought of a hundred different reasons to explain why Riddle hadn't turned up. Nothing I could come up with made any sort of sense so I quickly gave up on that idea, stalking blindly into the darkened halls.

In all the time I had known him, I had never witnessed Riddle to be late. It was one of the things he despised more than anything and so he always arrived meticulously early for everything: classes, meetings and even the most trivial of events like study periods and dinner. So why, _why_ didn't he come? If could spare an hour for the Hufflepuff third year that he barely knew who had shyly asked for his help in Transfiguration, then why couldn't he put aside _one night _for me, who had practically handed him immortality on a silver platter?

I brushed furiously at my eyes again. And why, why had I been foolish enough to expect anything more from him? I had let my feelings get in the way of reason and now I...I wished...

I wished I knew where he was! The frustration took me again and recklessly, I stomped in the direction where I thought he would be, where he normally finished his Prefect duties, where I had once met him and asked him to call me by my first name...

I arrived at the Charms corridor. Much to my disappointment, it was completely deserted; bitterly, I half-turned to leave.

Then, voices.

My head snapped towards the source of the sound and my hand gripped instinctively around the handle of my wand. There were voices, low and soft but unmistakeably close by. Slowly, uncertainly, I drew nearer to the corridor where the voices were coming from. I thought—I _hoped_—that I recognized one of them but... no, surely not...

I quietly stepped closer to them and when I looked into their corridor, there was no mistaking the handsome, dark-haired head of Tom Riddle. His back was to me but I could see the face of the person he was talking to. The woman was intensely beautiful, with long, waist length hair and strong, proud features. A long cloak covered her graceful stature and would have touched the ground, had she been standing on it. But the pearly white glow that surrounded her body was her giveaway and I shrunk back into the shadows.

"...you will promise me this?" the ghost said in an imperious tone, but there was a slight smile playing around the corners of her proud mouth.

"Of course," Riddle replied and his voice was unrecognizable; low and darkly seductive.

The ghost seemed to be enjoying his attention for her lips curled further into a sly smile. I shifted in my spot and her sharp gaze flickered in my direction; I froze directly in front of the stone archway. The moonlight cast the length of my shadow towards them and her eyes widened in something close to alarm. She staggered—if ghosts could stagger—backwards and she vanished.

Feeling as if it was pointless to continue hiding, I stepped out in full view, staring intently at the boy with his back to me.

"Tom," I said quietly. He turned and I pulled back slightly. There was a look of wild happiness on his face but it did not make him look more handsome; instead, his finely carved features looked rougher, somehow bestial...

"Hello, Ariadne," he said.

He was in his wizard's dress robes; a simple black cloak over a three piece suit that was such a dark green, it was almost black. His hair had been brushed straight back so that dark locks curled around his temples and he would have looked devastatingly handsome...had it not been for his expression.

So he hadn't forgotten, that much was obvious. But he had been sidetracked, as only Riddle could be...

"Are you alright?" was the only question I could think to ask him.

"Oh, yes," he said quietly. "Very much so..."

It was as if he weren't looking at me but rather seeing _through_ me...his eyes held a faraway look in them as if he were too deeply immersed in thought to notice the worried, anxious girl in the shimmering white ballgown in front of him.

"Come with me," he said abruptly and I frowned.

"Where?"

He didn't reply; wordlessly he began to stride in the opposite direction and stunned, I followed him hurriedly, holding the front of my skirt above the ground.

"Tom—Tom, _wait_!" I caught up with him and he continued on out of the castle, never breaking his stride even as we walked through the freezing snow. "That was the Grey Lady, wasn't it? Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter?"

"Very astute, Ariadne," Riddle muttered, increasing his pace. I caught hold of his arm and forced him to come to a halt. It was something to be said of Riddle's current state that this action didn't even seem to annoy him; rather, he only stared at me blankly.

"We're..." I swallowed hard. "Her diadem...we're...?"

After a long moment, he nodded silently, his grey eyes boring into my own. I exhaled quietly.

"I want to go with you."

"I thought you would," he said, unsurprised. He started walking again and I followed him, gathering my skirt once more in my hands.

"How are we going to get there?" I said worriedly. "I thought you couldn't Apparate within Hogwarts grounds?"

"You can't," he replied. "We'll be Apparating in Hogsmeade instead."

I didn't question how he knew how to Apparate despite being only sixteen; I just let him lead me into the streets of the familiar village. We reached a certain street corner and he stopped.

"You've never Apparated before, have you?" he said and I shook my head. "Then hold on to me."

Cautiously, I took his arm. Riddle turned gracefully on the spot and suddenly everything went black: it felt like I was being compressed into a very tight, narrow tube; my eardrums were being pushed back into my head and my lungs were bursting—

And then suddenly, I was breathing in lungfuls of heady, sweetly scented air. I stumbled, but my hands caught me before I fell.

I stared. A blanket of blue and violet flowers lay underneath my hands and covered the skirts of my dress like tiny pieces of blue sky. Disbelievingly, I picked one and held it between my fingers; I crushed it in my palm and inhaled its sweet perfume. It was real, and this stunned me for I had only seen this garden once before...once, long ago, on the anniversary of my parents' death when I had stumbled in my classroom and witnessed this strange illusion, which had seemed as real to me then as it was now...

"Where are we?" I said hoarsely.

"A forest in Albania," Riddle replied. I looked around; we were in a dark forest, but not so dark as what I was used to for the silver light from the full moon that gleamed in an unfamiliar sky filtered through the slender, pale trees that surrounded us as far as the eye could see. And everywhere, everywhere, were the beautiful blue flowers that carpeted the forest floor in a sea of azure.

Slowly, I stood up and turned to Riddle but he appeared to be concentrating intently on something that I could neither see nor hear, for his brow was furrowed as his calculating eyes scanned the scenery before him.

Then, without warning, he took off into the woods and in my confused, mesmerized state, it was some time before I followed him.

He had his wand alight so I followed the moving white flow as I ran desperately through the woods after him. The ballgown made it difficult: its long skirts kept on getting tangled in the reaching, thorny branches of the pale trees and often I stumbled in my pursuit. I was thankful that I had worn Dumbledore's clogs for they found better purchase on the slippery, dewy ground than any sort of dancing slippers ever would.

A low hanging branch caught on the lace of the shoulder of my dress and I had to bite down a cry of pain as it sliced through my skin as well, tearing the sleeve to ribbons as I passed it. Still, I followed Riddle's light.

Finally, I arrived at a place where the trees seemed sparser and I turned this way and that as I tried to see where Riddle had gone. I was totally lost; everywhere I turned, the same, unfamiliar forest met my eyes.

Panic began to sink in and my breath began to go in and out in short, raspy gasps as I struggled to see through the light mist that pervaded the forest. He wouldn't—he wouldn't _leave _me here, would he?

"Tom?" I called out. "Wait, I can't see where you are..."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a dim yellow glow and feeling immensely relieved, I followed it. He was moving faster now, I noted, he must have found what he was looking for...

Even as I thought this, the light sped up and I hastened to catch up to him. The ground had changed; the bluebells had disappeared and thick, sprawling tree roots took its place instead and the light mist grew into a thick, white fog. I barely avoided tripping over several of the roots as I chased Riddle's light and sweat beaded my forehead despite the obvious chill in the air as waves of fatigue threatened to overwhelm me. Still, I ran deeper into the woods until the fog was so thick that I didn't dare take another step.

"Tom?" I called out in a voice that was barely a whisper. No answering light shone and the world seemed to have gone strangely quiet; I could hear nothing, not even the wind, save for the thunderous pounding of my own heart.

"Tom?" I said, louder this time. A yellow light appeared suddenly before me looking as though he was only a few feet away, so close that I could touch him. I took a step forward—

-and gasped when I felt something close around me tightly from behind, yanking me roughly backwards. I collapsed painfully to the ground next to something very warm and very _alive_—but my pulse quietened somewhat when I realized that it was no monstrous creature that had caught me, but the panting, dishevelled figure of Tom Riddle.

Then, upon realizing this, my pulse picked up into a thundering roar.

"What do you think you're doing, Ari?" he said angrily and I reeled back in surprise at his livid tone.

"I was following you," I said hotly.

"That was not me," he said through gritted teeth and I started.

"Then who—"

He raised his wand and the fog cleared and I saw, to my horror, the edge of the rocky cliff that lay only inches before the edge of my gleaming skirt. I heard waves crashing against the shore and I peered with wide eyes over the cliff at the sharp, jagged rocks, far, far below.

"Hinkypunks," Riddle said. "The forest is full of them."

"I didn't...I didn't know..." I muttered.

"Stay close to me," Riddle cut in harshly. "I don't have time to chase you around the Forest all night, Ariadne."

He stood up and I scrambled to my feet. He cast me a long look and ventured back into the woods with me close to his side. I followed him until my feet were numb and my body was sagging with exhaustion as I struggled to keep up with Riddle's quick, graceful steps.

Finally he stopped and breathless, I came to a halt just behind him. We were standing in front of a very large, gnarled, pale tree.

"This is it," Riddle said quietly. "The hollow tree in which Helena Ravenclaw concealed her diadem, all those years ago..."

He sounded feverish. Deeply troubled, I asked him, "How do you know this?"

"Magic leaves traces," he answered cryptically. He stared at the tree for a long time, his head cocked to one side. Then he circled the tree, muttering to himself. Riddle placed a hand lightly on the bark and pulled it back as though he had been burned.

"Strange," he muttered.

"Can't you get to it?" I asked him.

"It will take some time," he replied distractedly. While he continued to study the tree, I kept my distance although my eyes flickered uneasily around at the forest, my wand held tentatively out.

Riddle came to a stop and a deep frown formed between his brows. Then slowly, his gaze moved to me.

"Ah," he said quietly, as if he were seeing me for the first time. My cheeks colored as I thought of my current appearance; my dress was torn and ripped in numerous places and the fabric over my shoulder was soaking wet with blood from the deep cut I had received earlier. Scratches decorated my forearms and face and my hair, for which I had worked so hard to trap in its delicate braids and curls now fell in a graceless raven tangle around my shoulders and neck.

His eyes raked over my figure in a manner that was almost vulgar and I crossed my arms over my chest and stared back defiantly. "What?"

"Where did you get that dress, Ariadne?" he asked softly.

"I found it," I said, "in the Room of Requirement. Why?"

"Do you know what sort of dress that is?" he said quietly and I shrugged.

"A ballgown...? I dunno..."

"A wedding dress," he answered simply and I elapsed into a stunned silence. "Rowena Ravenclaw's wedding dress, actually...the dress that she had made with her own magic, the dress that she was going to wear before Salazar Slytherin left the school..."

"Rowena Ravenclaw's...?" I whispered. I thought of the frightened expression that had the crossed the face of Helena Ravenclaw when she had seen me watching them, how she disappeared as though she had wanted to run away... hadn't she stolen the diadem from her mother?

"I need you to get the crown for me," Riddle said baldly. "I cannot do it myself because Helena Ravenclaw's magic is preventing me from reaching the tree."

"And you think I can...?" I said disbelievingly.

"Ravenclaw's magic surrounds you. Part of your blood has mingled with it. With this temporary protection, you should be able to get through the barrier."

"Tom..." I was unsure.

"Ariadne," he said flatly. "Please."

I stared at him for a moment longer—when had I ever heard him use that word?—and turned my gaze unwillingly back to the tree. Casting him a frightened look, I stepped cautiously towards it, carefully avoiding its tangled, snaking roots as I drew closer to the small gap in the trunk, just big enough for an arm to squeeze through. Slowly, reluctantly, I pressed the tips of my fingers against the colorless, rough bark and held my breath. The expected pain did not come and I glanced at Riddle whose face, although expressionless, held an air of wild excitement.

Carefully, I slipped my hand into the hollow of the tree. I felt around, expecting fully for some strange and possibly venomous creature to bite off my hand and then I froze as the tips of my fingers met something cool and hard and obviously not nature-made. They closed around it and I pulled it out of the trunk; the tree gave a deep and shuddering sigh, as if in relief. With a sense of growing wonder, I stared at the object in my hands: it was a tiara, intricately made out of a delicate gleaming silver metal. In the center, a blue sapphire in the shape of a reverse teardrop glowed and even underneath the pale shine of the moonlight, I could read the words inscribed on the tiara's base: _Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure._

I looked at Tom whose excitement could no longer be contained; his handsome features were marred by his greedy expression. I stepped off the tree and mutely held out the diadem. Drawing closer, he took it from me and examined it with a look nothing short of transfixed.

A howl sounded somewhere in the woods and I drew unconsciously closer to him.

"Tom," I said urgently, "we have to go, we shouldn't be here..."

"I'll take you back," Riddle said, not taking his eyes off the tiara and I frowned.

"But you aren't staying? You're coming back here?" I said. "Why?"

Reluctantly, he turned his gaze to me. "I wish to make my third Horcrux," he said coldly.

"Tom, you said you'd give it a month," I argued and it was if he hadn't even heard me for his eyes were glued greedily once more to the diadem.

"I'll take you back," he repeated. His gaze was distant, unseeing as looked at me and something hot and scaly erupted in the pit of my stomach; I was deafened by the roar of blood in my ears and every emotion that I had felt this awful, awful night reared its head: anger, humiliation, fear, _hurt_...

"No," I said, breathing hard. "No!"

Riddle's eyes snapped to mine; frowning, he began," Ariadne—"

"_You listen to me!_" I shouted and he fell silent, looking stunned. "All I wanted was a night where I could just enjoy myself, where I didn't have to worry about my stupid corpus defessum or your damned Horcruxes for just _one night_, Riddle! I deserve at _least_ that! But you—" a hundred accusations clamoured in my mind: you didn't show up, you didn't meet me when you said you would, you forced my hand, _again_... "—you didn't even ask me to dance," I said and I was dangerously close to tears. Riddle looked disconcerted and uncomfortable; he moved closer as if to say something but I recoiled back, angry once more.

"You don't know what I've given up for this!" I yelled hysterically. "I left everything behind! I've gone against everything I've ever believed in! _I am going to die!_

"But it doesn't matter to you, I suppose," I said bitterly, "as long as you get what you want, right? It doesn't matter if I'm hurt or angry or _dead_, because I'm just a disposable, stupid girl to you... and you wouldn't give a damn what happens to me."

"Ariadne—"

"Just take me home," I cut him off. I refused to look at him as wordlessly, he stood in front of me and enclosed both of my wrists with his hands, unexpectedly gentle.

I closed my eyes.

The world went dark as the air closed tightly around us into a suffocating tube and suddenly, we were back on the Hogsmeade street corner. Without looking at him, I stormed away in the direction of Hogwarts, my tattered dress billowing behind me in the icy gale. Even above the sounds of the wind whistling in my ears I heard the loud _crack!_ that marked Riddle's Disapparation and it was on a fresh wave of resentment that I continued to the castle without a single backwards glance.

**A/N: I've found that when I'm unsure of writing Riddle's character, I often look at the specific scene in HBP that describes him at eleven years old. Paranoia, greed, selfishness and a yearning desire to be different... that's basically his core, isn't it? It's just that when he got older, he grew better at hiding it...**

**God, how am I doing at writing him by the way? It's really getting harder with every chapter, but I liked this, the disastrous Christmas ball. Not as romantic as you all hoped, but hopefully you liked what you saw enough to leave a review! **


	20. Gift

**Disclaimer: **Never.

**A/N: **Ah.

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 19: Gift**

_Even above the sounds of the wind whistling in my ears I heard the loud __crack!__that marked Riddle's Disapparation and it was on a fresh wave of resentment that I continued to the castle without a single backwards glance._

"The weather's awful, isn't it?"

"I suppose."

There was a short silence. "Do you want to do something?"

"Sure."

"...d'you want to have a game of chess?" Draco asked.

"No," I said and returned back to looking out the window of the Gryffindor common room.

Draco gave a sharp sigh and I registered a twinge of guilt which I then ignored. He had been trying very hard ever since the Christmas ball a few nights ago to be nice to me and I had to give him full credit, for he had refrained from making his usual sneering commentary on things like my hair and the way I ate. But I hated nothing more than to see the pity in his eyes when I looked at him so I was mostly unresponsive to his attempts at light conversation.

"Exploding Snap?"

"No."

Instead, I found myself returning again and again to the night in the Albanian forest.

After _he_ had Disapparated into the forest again I'd found my way back to the castle. Ignoring the lively music and whirling dancers of the Great Hall (for it was barely midnight, although to me it had felt much later), I went straight to the Gryffindor common room where I was so exhausted that I had fallen asleep on my bed without even taking off my dress. I was thankful that nearly all the girls in my dormitory had left early in the morning the next day to go on their holidays because when I stirred to wakefulness sometime in the afternoon I had felt so sore that I had actually cried for a short time before I hobbled to the bathroom. What I saw in the mirror was not pretty: I looked half wild, with dirt and scratches covering my face and arms and my hair hanging in a tangled snarl down my back. My dress- formerly a translucent white- was now a multicolored mess of muddy brown, rusty scarlet from where my blood had soaked through and around the hem, blue from brushing against the carpet of violet flowers that made the forest so distinctive. I drew closer so that I was nose-to-nose with my reflection: there was a greyish tinge to my complexion and although there were not yet bags under my puffy red eyes, the skin there was a delicate shade of lavender. My corpus was beginning to stake its claim on me once more.

Now, I reflected on this as I touched the glass pane of the bay window I was sitting at. Riddle was supposed to be helping me, but... I hadn't seen him since he Disapparated. I didn't even know if he had returned to Hogwarts.

My eyebrows drew together as I stared at the gently falling snow outside.

"I've never spent Christmas at Hogwarts before," I heard Draco say in a more subdued tone and I switched my gaze to him. He was staring into space, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

"Except for the Yule Ball, of course, the year before. It's...rather empty, isn't it?"

"I remember my last Christmas," I said quietly. "It was after the third anniversary of my parents' death. It was lonely for me, too."

Draco's expression grew worried and I stood up abruptly. "I think I'll go to the Library."

I walked quickly past him before he could say anything; soon I was outside the portrait hole and my pace slowed unwillingly. I was thinking of the anniversary: For a long time it had been punctuated by a series of fleeting but disconcerting events- sucker punches, I remembered calling them, because they always took me by surprise...

Yet I had always dismissed them as hallucinations-because surely everyone turned a little crazy when they witnessed their own parents' murder- or at the very least, mere flights of fancy. But now, having been _in_ the forest with the carpet of bluebells that I had once seen before but hadn't, I looked back on my memories of that infamous date with new eyes. The starry sky I had seen on the ceiling of my own bedroom...that was Hogwarts' nighttime indigo, seen from deep within the Forbidden Forest. The strange, incomprehensible whispers and hissing I used to hear...although they were still incomprehensible to me, they were no longer unfamiliar for now I recognized the voice of the speaker and the snake-language with which it was spoke in...

What did that mean, then? That I hadn't been hallucinating at all? That perhaps, I had been unconsciously remembering memories that I had yet to make? That...I had always been meant to...?

My head started to throb and I began to cough, loud and hacking as I doubled over. Swaying slightly, I leaned against the nearest wall until my head cleared and I could breathe normally again.

It was so frustrating to have so many unanswered questions. It was even more so to realize that, had I not followed Riddle into the forest, that this rumination on _Fate_, of all things, would not have been so upsetting. I remembered asking Hermione once about this, the day that I had bought my gold dress, and she had told me about the Strands of Time and Threads of Fate, and how they were both entwined, but had broken apart upon our arrival to 1944... I had half jokingly said that it was probably our fate to come here, but only now was I realizing the full truth of my words...

I wished I had never followed Riddle. How stupid was I even think of it? It had been obvious from the very beginning that it would not end well, and yet, blindly I had gone with him. Perhaps some foolish part of me had hoped for some sort of reward for my efforts, and my feelings...

For I realized it now, that this stupid _crush _was not solely Myrtle's fault but also my own: she had only helped to hurry the impending day of this disastrous realization. I actually, genuinely, strangely, inconceivably, unfathomably _liked_ Tom Riddle. I don't know when it happened. Perhaps, like seemingly so much else, it was inevitable. But when he wasn't being cruel, selfish or frightening- or more accurately, in _spite_ of this- I liked him quite a bit. More than a bit. A whole lot, actually.

So then, I suppose my current predicament was my fault. I knew that there was no way- that it was impossible that _he_ would ever...especially for _me_...but I wished. I suppose that was what hurt my pride most of all. I was so, so angry, absolutely furious at him...but at the same time, it was if nothing had changed.

But I knew that what I felt didn't matter, for if he didn't feel the same way then it was all for naught and I might as well have wished the sky were red.

888

Tom frowned as he stared out the window of the Slytherin common room. No visions of the grey sky and white, snow-covered met his eyes, however; the murky green waters of the Black Lake, under which the common room was located, served well enough in its stead. He was alone; the other boys had already left for the Christmas holidays, save for McDonald and Evans but they had departed for breakfast long ago.

One long finger rubbed absentmindedly at the edge of Ravenclaw's diadem as he held it up to the greenish light; the furrow in his brows deepened as he considered it and all its worth. It was hard to concentrate.

He had forgotten about that damned ball.

Tom closed his eyes and snarled quietly. Here he was, with two of the relics of the second greatest Hogwarts founder around his neck and in his hand, and all he could think about was that ridiculous dance that he had missed- and _her_ words in the strange, Albanian forest.

_"You wouldn't give a damn what happens to me._"

Stupid girl! His lip curled and he turned away from the window in disgust. Did she think that he spent his nights and days in the Come-and-Go Room merely because he enjoyed her sweet company? He had been trying to save her miserable life; it was not his fault that she felt some misplaced sense of injustice when he chose to make another Horcrux...she had even _asked_ to come with him, to find the diadem...

He realized that he was muttering to himself and he clenched his teeth together with an audible snap. He glanced at the clock. It seemed the day was quickly going to waste: he had originally planned to test the tiara for the magical powers it was rumored to possess. But he knew that it was unwise to toy with something so powerful when his mind was distracted, as he so often was these days...

He was pacing, he realized. Tom made himself stop and then reluctantly Vanished the diadem back to its hiding place with a flick of his wand. He considered for a moment his next course of action. The prospect was not altogether favorable to him but he supposed, rather resignedly, that it was necessary to tie up loose ends.

Removing the First Locket around his neck, he turned it once in his hand and was gone.

He reappeared into the Room, some months earlier. Lazily he sidestepped the deadly violet curse that was shot his way (it knocked off a sizable chunk of wall next to him) and with raised brows, surveyed the scene of destruction before him. Splintered furniture and ash littered the place save for only one clear remaining spot, wherein his past self stood, looking both angry and irritated at Tom's arrival.

"You!" Past-Riddle said, livid.

"Yes, me," Tom said calmly, brushing off the rubble from his shoulders. "And you, technically."

He was glad to realize that he had arrived at just the right time after Ariadne had sent him those ridiculous singing Christmas flowers, for, as he noted with little surprise, that his past self was already plotting ways to kill her.

"_I can make it seem like an accident_," Past-Riddle was muttering in Parseltongue as he paced restlessly around the room, "_Lure her into the Forbidden Forest and make it seem as if she were attacked by a wild animal...frame another student for a fit of sudden madness..._"

Tom's nostrils flared and his mouth tightened with sudden, abrupt disapproval. And suddenly the difference between his present and his past was fully realized as he watched the half mad figure with feral eyes with disdain at what he perceived were the excessively brutal and cruel wishes of his younger counterpart. Ariadne could be excessively aggravating when she so chose, yes, but he did not wish such a death upon her, nor did he want see her in pain.

Then, with a pull of guilt that surprised him, he remembered her expression in the bluebell woods. Her face had been bone pale with exhaustion and stress, her dark eyes enormous with fear and her mouth very small as she struggled not to cry even as she gave voice to her fury. Tom had only ever seen her do so only once, on _his_ behalf, the night he had murdered his father and grandparents...

It seemed he was the cause for most of her grieving, he thought with some chagrin. But it was her own fault, because not only was she rash and aggressively naïve, but also stubbornly, obstinately kind.

Which was why Tom never put much stock in the virtue.

With some difficulty, Riddle pulled himself back to the conversation in Parseltongue as he persuaded his past to accept Ariadne's offer to help him with his Horcruxes. He watched the play of emotion on his younger doppelganger's face- shock, outrage, irritation- and sighed, remembering the moment well.

"_Besides_," Tom said softly, persuasively, "_what better way to kill her? To let her become dependent on you as the source of her antidote...and then..._"

"'The Lord giveth', yes?" The other boy responded dryly in English and it disturbed Tom slightly to see the venomous glee which the idea had given them in his own face. He finished his visit with a mild warning about Ariadne's temperamental wand and was back in his present with another turn of the Locket.

The common room was still empty and Riddle collapsed, less gracefully than usual, into his preferred armchair furthest from the fireplace where his thoughts strayed again to Ariadne. He supposed that when she was particularly calm or only marginally exasperating...

No, she was abrasive even then. But she could be charming in her own way, if she so wished, and Riddle had to admit that he did appreciate her company at times. Certainly it was more desirable to him than his blunderheaded peers...

He thought of her expression in the woods again, lingering slightly on her eyes in his memory. Then he sighed, and went to change.

888

My eyes flew open as I snapped awake and put a hand up to my nose and mouth, where blood was was streaming profusely onto the yellowed pages of the book I had been reading. Moving quickly in dull alarm, I shoved the book into my bag and ran for the girls's bathroom; I barely got there in time before I was sick in one of the sinks. Coughing, I washed my face and hands, and then froze in horror when I looked down and saw that they were bound together in a cocoon of vivid red thread.

I whirled around. Yes, they were everywhere again but somehow different; I didn't know if it was just my eyes but they seemed thicker, more substantial than before. I even fancied that I could feel them, just barely, wrapped around my hands and body...but perhaps I was just imagining it.

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and counted to ten.

_It's just a hallucination_, I told myself firmly. _Your corpus is making you see things. It's not real..._

I gasped as the threads began to thrum around my hands- there was no mistaking it this time, I could _feel_ them, if only just.

Heart pounding, I opened my eyes and like before, followed the vibrating Threads out of the girls' bathroom and into the outside hallway. The tremors stopped abruptly.

Something moved, flickering, in my peripheral vision and I turned my head sharply in its direction. I recoiled back, stunned.

_Hey_, I said._ Hey!_

The shadowy figure at the end of the hall looked at me coldly- or at least it appeared to be doing so for it had no eyes that I could discern in its hollow, distorted face. It began to drift away and I ran after it.

_I know you, don't I?_ I shouted. _I've seen you before, haven't I?_

The figure stopped in its tracks.

_Why can't I remember?_ I said. _What is happening to me?_

"We'll take you back."

_Take me back? Take me back where?_ I demanded. The figure merely looked at me and suddenly there was a blinding pain driving through my head...I collapsed to my knees, my nails digging into my scalp as if to tear it off...

I opened my eyes and the Threads were gone. My hands were free again and I was alone in the corridor. Disoriented and breathing raggedly, I looked around but there was no sign that anyone else had ever been here with me. But I hadn't forgotten, this time...

Who _was_ that? I _know_ I had seen them before...but even as I fought to remember, I knew I would not succeed for it was like trying to catch something as slippery as an eel: the minute I thought I had something, it slipped out of my fingers...

888

Tom found himself in the Hogsmeade Forest. For a moment, he simply examined his surroundings, listening with a grim expression to the distant sounds of screaming and booms of curses. Then, unexpectedly close by:

"_Ben, qu'est-ce que nous avons ici?_"

He started and began to move quickly through the trees; he burst into the area where the man stood, wearing the black and gold robes of Grindelwald's army, his wand raised and Tom shouted, "_Avada Kedavra!_"

No feeling touched his heart this time as he watched the man topple to the ground with cold eyes; this was scum, vermin. He approached the body with a sneer of contempt, twirling his wand lazily in his hand and when he heard a gasp, he looked up sharply into the wide, dark eyes of Ariadne. He surprised, although he knew he shouldn't have been for she had warned him about this before...

"Ari," he said, stowing his wand back into his suit. "And here I was, thinking you knew better."

He was pleasantly entertained by her perplexed expression but his good humor diminished as he studied her, dryly noting the angry red scrape on her thin face and her wild, dishevelled appearance. Clearly, not much had changed from past to present, he thought as he recalled the way she had looked in the Albanian forest and his brows pulled together.

"You're hurt," he said quietly and mutely, she put a hand up to her cheek as if just realizing. He stepped forward and she recoiled sharply back, which made him pause.

Tom frowned; he had to remember that this was not the Ariadne that he was accustomed to, who was perfectly comfortable around him. He remembered that she had even hugged him, once...although, he recalled bitterly, that she had not been herself at the time.

He hesitated.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said slowly, uncertainly. Why did his words ring in the air like a vow? It wasn't something he could promise. He saw the skepticism in her eyes but she let him come closer and inspect her injury.

"It's only a shallow cut. I think you'll live," he said and smiled slightly at her narrowed eyes and suspicious expression. She flinched when he pulled out his wand and healed her face; it was strange to think that the same girl had said that she had trusted him only a few days ago. It was an odd conflict.

He recognized the stony expression on her familiar, severe face and suddenly he couldn't help himself; he looked at her under his eyelashes and said in a voice he had never used on her before, "Do you think you can make it back to the castle or will I have to carry you?"

An uneven, ruddy flush brought life to her face and Tom's face became wicked as she said hotly, "No! I can manage."

She did not accept the hand he held out to her as she staggered to her feet. It was obvious that the simple action strained her even as she gripped onto the tree trunk to support her weight; her eyes fluttered briefly shut and Tom was struck by the contrast of her dark, thick lashes against the deep purple bags under them and the thin, almost delicate shape of her collarbones as they protruded outward when she moved. It occurred to him then that despite the glaring evidence of her illness...in that fleeting, heedless moment, she was very beautiful.

She was looking directly at him now, her eyes tired but fierce as always. "What?"

"How have you been feeling lately?" Tom said abruptly and she stared at him, her thick brows drawn together as if she thought he was insane. He sighed. Perhaps he was.

"I'm afraid I can't stay for much longer, Ari," he said politely. He thought darkly of the reason he was here: once more, to clean up the mess of his past self. He had brought Grindelwald's men to Hogwarts and so, he would bring them out. He was not much looking forward to the idea. But he remembered to remove the small vial of their imperfect corpus potion that it had become a habit of his to carry with him at all times, for her sake, and enclose it in Ariadne's reluctant hands.

"Where are you going?" She said as he stepped back and Tom had to smirk at the childish question and the slightly endearing way her eyes widened in alarm as he moved away. Did she not want him to leave?

"Don't worry; I'll see you in a moment," he lied reassuringly. His gaze then shifted over her shoulder at the numerous flashes of colored lights coming from the village and his expression became stern. "Watch yourself."

Taking his words literally she whirled around, wand in her hand to look behind her. Upon seeing nothing, she began, "What are you-?"

But Tom was already gone by the time she turned around.

888

I woke up in the middle of the night. Rubbing my eyes I lit my wand and glanced at the clock; barely two hours had passed since I'd fallen into an uneasy sleep.

I threw myself back onto the pillows and stared up at the canvas roof of my four poster bed. It was rather uncommon for me to be so restless when I was normally a deep sleeper, and when my corpus made me preternaturally exhausted. But I simply couldn't get any rest tonight. It wasn't that I was worried, although I was ever since seeing the red threads again, nor because I was anxious... but because even though I felt as if I could have keeled over at any time with fatigue, a part of me felt that it was _wrong_ to do so. Something very innate and instinctual was telling me that I had no Time left to waste on something as inconsequential as sleep...

And although I felt very, very tired, that same unknown sliver of me felt most alert. I was at once both filled with racing adrenaline and somnolent weariness and this made me frustrated more than confused.

Even at the end, I couldn't get what I wanted.

888

Tom stifled a yawn, pausing in the middle of one of the nastier potions books he had found in the Restricted Section of the school library. He had borrowed it long ago, to help with some of the theory behind Ariadne's corpus potion and had not looked at it since his initial readthrough. However, since they were now starting from scratch, he felt that it would not be unwise to look over it again, although he recalled each paragraph perfectly from memory.

His eyes drifted shut as he lay in his armchair in the Slytherin common room; he had spent nearly the entire day gallivanting about in Time, dealing with his own stubborn self (and earning a rather nasty cut on his cheek, _again_, for his troubles) and fighting Grindelwald's soldiers- it came as no surprise then, that sleep claimed him fully the minute he closed his eyes.

But Tom was a light sleeper and the soft groan of the dungeon door that was the room's entrance as it opened was enough send his eyes snapping open and his wand out and pointed casually, but deceivingly, at the floor. Fully alert, he waited for the intruder- for Evans and McDonald had gone to bed long before, he knew, and there was no one left but himself- and drummed his long fingers patiently on the handle of his wand.

Then when the figure came into view of the light of the fireplace, he straightened immediately. Riddle was rarely surprised, but in that moment he was completely and utterly stunned when the person opened their mouth with a quiet, "Hello."

"Ariadne?"

888

The Christmas that I experienced at Hogwarts was simultaneously the best and worst of its kind. It was the best because, even though I was still slightly glum and rather cheerless on the whole, it was the first in a long time that I was surrounded by people that I loved. Despite my sulky mood, it was still my favorite holiday and so my excitement and enthusiasm inevitably surfaced and did not die when I woke up on Christmas Day and saw the small but cheerful pile of presents underneath the tree in the Gryffindor tower. I had yanked Draco out of bed at three in the morning; this made him grouchy, because he was not a morning, noon or night person.

"This is it?" He said disdainfully as he eyed the pathetic, brightly colored heap. "When I was at home, Father alone gave me twice as much as this rubbish! I don't see how you could be so excited about- are you crying?" He sounded aghast and I threw my arms around him.

"You are the best brother in the world," I said through sobs.

"You don't even know if I've given you anything," Draco said uncomfortably, although he did not push me off.

"I saw them," I positively howled, referring to the shiny pair of Mary Janes that had been pushed behind the diminutive pile of gifts, "Thank you, thank you!"

"As long as you stop wearing Dumbledore's things," he muttered, his face rather pink.

"Draco Malfoy. I love you, I really do."

"Alright, that's enough!"

I managed to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek and he shoved me off disgustedly, wiping his face.

"Well, you seem to be in a better mood now," he mumbled to himself and I pretended not to hear as I exclaimed over the rest of the gifts. Ron had given me an extra large jar of Cockroach Cluster, Harry, a new deck of non magic cards and Hermione a formidable looking textbook that explained the theory behind several advanced Charms. Even Draco received his share from the three, although he didn't seem too pleased about Ron and Harry's gift of a knitted jumper depicting a giant, white ferret on its front. He did seem more appreciative of mine: a pair of expensive, dragonhide winter gloves because he'd complained more than once of the poor quality of the wool that was used to make his school pair.

Even the weather was nice: having been nothing but blizzards for the past few weeks, the snow now lay in an all-encompassing perfect blanket of white. I dragged Draco out and made tracks in the fresh snow before he complained that he was hungry and we went back inside to have breakfast with the others, for there were so few people remaining at Hogwarts for the holidays that instead of splitting us into our Houses as usual, we all sat at one of the long tables. I pulled Christmas crackers and played a few more lazy games of wizard's chess with Harry and broke in my new deck by attempting to teach Ron some Muggle card games. The food of course was as extravagant and delicious as always, and I also discovered Draco's low tolerance to Firewhiskey, which I of course vigorously abused until I had to drag his half-passed out person back to bed. So really, my Christmas here was the best I had had in a long time.

It was the worst because Riddle had returned back to Hogwarts- that is, I saw him again in the halls- and he was avoiding me. Riddle, avoid_ me_! The idea itself was ridiculous, for if Tom didn't want to see someone, he would have either just persuaded or cursed them out of his way. At first I thought I was imagining it even though my pride wouldn't let me contact him myself, but I soon realized that the way he mysteriously disappeared when I met him in the corridors or how I seemed always catch the tail end of his cloak as I entered the room _just_ as he exited it was not in in my head. This frustration that this caused me hissed and bubbled and threatened to boil over at any moment, leaving me in a perpetually black mood. Why should _he_ avoid me?

And it wasn't as though he simply didn't take notice of me- more than once, I turned around in my seat at the Gryffindor table, sure that I had felt a burning gaze on the back of my neck but when I looked at the Slytherin table, his eyes were always carefully set somewhere else.

Many times I was tempted to just do as he had done once: seat myself at his table and demand an explanation for his rude behaviour. But I was still angry at him, and so I stiffly ignored him the way he did me. Christmas passed and even through all my happiness, a part of that anger remained even though he was conspicuously absent the entire day...I had even once thought about getting him something, but it didn't really matter now and he probably would have thought nothing of it...

Despite my determination to stay neutral, my mood grew fouler after Christmas Day when I noticed that Riddle had disappeared from the castle again. It was ridiculous that my mood was so tied to him in this way but I could not help it: I was irked and angry and exasperated and despairing all the time and I forced myself to stay away from Draco so that he wouldn't feel the brunt of my frustrations. So I remained very much in this way for most of the December month, until New Year's Eve.

My birthday.

I had woken up early and gone straight to the Library where I spent the majority of the day building houses of cards in my own dark corner, away from the prying eyes of Sir Constantine. I wasn't seventeen yet, and so I patiently passed the time until I was.

I had not told Draco, nor the others about it because birthdays were always a rather lonely and quiet event for me ever since I lost my parents. We'd always celebrated them together, the three of us, and it felt as though I were breaking something very sacrosanct if I spent it with anyone else. I was lonely, but I was used to the loneliness anyway. And so in my quiet corner, I celebrated in my own way by building up my fragile houses of cards and watching them crumble down.

Draco found me just after dinner; I was just placing the final card on top of the pyramid. His eyes became wide when he saw the enormous monstrosity and I felt faintly proud even as I wobbled precariously on the high stool I was using to put the last card in place.

"This was where you were the whole day?" He said, eyeing the giant pyramid.

It took me a while before I could answer, because I was concentrating very hard on not shaking my hand too much as I finished the tower. "Yeah."

I climbed down and stood next to Draco, admiring the sight of a whole day's work.

"You missed dinner," he said, not taking his eyes off the pyramid.

"I wasn't hungry."

"How did you get so many cards?"

"I used the _Gemino_ charm," I replied. "I'm kinda tired, brother."

He gave me a calculating look and noticed the red rims around my eyes, and my unhealthy pallor. "Are you...?"

"Perfectly fine," I said. "Just tired."

"Go to bed, then."

"I think I will." With a sigh, I studied my magnificent work one last time and then, much to Draco's astonishment, removed a single card from its base, sending the whole thing toppling down like a cloud of strange butterflies.

"Did you have to do that?" Draco said.

"Good things come to an end," I reminded him and his expression suddenly became deeply troubled. I elbowed him slightly to lighten the mood and then said, "You go on without me, I gotta clear this mess up first."

He left and I undid the charm on the cards and gathered them into my hands. One fluttered away and I ducked down under the table to retrieve it. When I surfaced, I was ready to put them all back into their box-and then I stopped, completely froze when I saw the single, scarlet poinsettia flower lying on the table.

I didn't want to touch it. For a minute, I was certain I was hallucinating again but when I stretched out my trembling fingers and stroked its crimson, velvet leaves I knew that it was real and I pulled my hand back as though I had been burned. What was this...what the hell...

I picked it up and marvelled at its glowing red color. It was beautiful: it looked like a perfect, large seven-pointed star. I didn't know why it was there or _how_ it could have gotten there...unless...

I refused to let myself finish the thought; now that, _that_ was absolutely ridiculous. Why would he...? When he didn't even...?

But if not, then who? _I_ had certainly not done this, nor Draco...and who else would both charming and cruel enough to remember my favorite flower?

I stood there, unsure of what next to do and the sudden boom of the Hogwarts clocktower startled me; I nearly dropped it.

I counted nine chimes.

My eyebrows rose so far that they almost disappeared into my hairline; I stared at the Christmas flower in my hand and back in the direction of the clocktower with disbelief. I understood the message, although I didn't like it. How presumptuous was this boy, to expect me to meet him at the time that he had promised me so long ago?

Of course I wouldn't go.

I looked back at the flower. I was absolutely certain that this was why Riddle had sent it, to _guilt _me into coming...I suppose really, it depended on one thing: did I _want _to see him?

I stared into space for a minute.

Goddamn _everything._

I left the Library for the Great Hall. I wasn't hurrying by any means but my footsteps did slow when I saw him standing in front of the Hall's entrance, his hands clasped behind his back as he seemingly waited for me. He wasn't facing my direction and so I approached him warily until I was a only few feet away. He turned around then and I was very much aware that this was the first time I had seen him face to face in a long time. He was as handsome as ever. To my surprise, his mouth was curled in a slight smile.

"You're late," Tom said.

Something red rippled behind my eyes; I opened my mouth in a snarl but he swiftly interrupted before I could say anything.

"Come for a walk with me?" He said, gesturing his arm out at the grounds. I appraised him with an odd look: his grey eyes were focused on my own and there was a strange expression there that was caught somewhere between earnestness and uncertainty despite his casual tone. It stopped the "no" I was about to give him in its tracks. With an angry shrug, I stalked past him, taking the way up the marble staircase instead rather than outside. He caught up to me easily with his long stride and stayed by my side, saying nothing else until we reached my destination: a secluded stone balcony that jutted out from the Astronomy Tower and overlooked the Black Lake.

I crossed my arms and hovered my the entrance and watched him with an expression that was half perturbed, half frustrated as he walked past me to look out over the edge, his hands resting calmly on its stone surface.

He was acting very strangely. After a moment or so, I joined him on the balcony, throwing my arms over the cold stone.

"It's my birthday today." I said during the silence that ensued.

Riddle made an involuntary movement and I raised my eyebrows at his startled reaction. His eyes met mine and his brow was furrowed as though he had come across something very difficult to understand. Then, very quietly he said, "Mine too."

"Oh." I felt awkward despite my surprise. I remembered something Luna Lovegood had said to me once when I first met her and she had read out that eerily accurate Muggle horoscope and I half smiled. "You know..." I said thoughtfully, "...that means you have a fetish for fluffy woollen things."

Clearly, this was the last thing he'd expected to say; Tom let out a disbelieving laugh. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, of course," I said, enjoying myself despite my earlier apprehension. I didn't realize how much I'd felt the loss until I was around him again: this was what felt comfortable, this light and inconsequential teasing. "Don't you believe me?"

The question seemed to sober him; the laughter drained from his face, which now looked very sombre. I watched him with a deep frown, wondering what his problem was- and then he jolted slightly, his moody expression changing into one of wonder. "Ah."

"What?"

Tom passed a hand over his eyes. "You'll find out in a moment."

Impatiently, I waited for him to say more but he remained stubbornly silent. Minutes ticked passed and then a rush of sudden heat flooded my body, and then was gone as abruptly as it came. Slightly dazed I asked, "What was...?"

"Your Trace is gone, Ariadne," Tom replied without looking at me. "Congratulations: you're seventeen."

I stared at him and his eyes flickered to mine before returning back to the Lake.

"Riddle..." I said slowly, and I held up the scarlet flower that I still carried between us. "...what is this?"

Tom stared at it for a long moment, lost in thought. Then he turned his gaze to me and there was that odd look again, which made me feel slightly disconcerted. "Just a reminder," he said quietly. "I owe you a dance, don't I?"

I took a step back; my eyes were wide as I said, "Tom..."

A faint smile curved his lips as he offered his hand to me. "Will you give me the honor?"

I felt strangely breathless; I shook my head frantically. "I can't dance, Tom."

"Can't you?" He hummed. "It's very easy, I promise."

After a beat, I set the flower on the balcony and reluctantly put my hand in his, barely touching him. His skin was very cold and it felt like my hand was very hot, almost burning against his. He pulled me gently closer, wrapping his long fingers around my own and put my hand so that it was resting on his shoulder while he put his own against the small of my back. I needed the help because I seemed to have gone quite numb; strangely, throughout all of this only one thing registered and that was that I had never realized how tall Tom Riddle was. The top of my head only came up to his chin and I had to tilt my head a fair bit just to look at him properly.

"Just follow me," he said and then we were moving, rather slowly for a waltz, over the snow covered stone floor of the balcony to the beat of some silent melody. I was concentrating so hard on this mute rhythm that my tense muscles forgot themselves and unlocked as we made swirls in the snow.

"Very good," he said approvingly after a while and I looked up and offered him a quick but slightly strained smile. We continued to revolve on the floor in silence, my heart thumping unevenly all the while as I waited for him to explain himself.

When he said nothing, I gathered my courage to look directly in his eyes and questioned him silently with my own. He understood, but some of the hurt and confusion I was feeling must have shone through for his expression became contrite.

"I haven't been on my best behaviour, have I?" He said quietly.

"No," I whispered. "Not really."

He stared at me with the same strange expression as before. "I suppose..." He said but he seemed to lose track of his thoughts. Abruptly, he said, "I have something for you."

I was thrown off by this sudden change in direction. "What?"

"I was originally hoping to give it to you as a late Christmas present...but I suppose it does rather well as a birthday gift now, doesn't it?" He half smiled but it didn't touch his eyes, which were tight.

"You shouldn't have gotten me anything," I said.

"Don't be spoiled," he replied and the smile faded from his face completely. He looked almost grim but there was an undercurrent of-anticipation?-that worried me. "Close your eyes."

I gave him a disbelieving look and he merely said, unsmiling, "I thought you trusted me."

We had stopped revolving and now stood completely still underneath the soft fall of snow. I studied him carefully but his expression was completely blank. Then I sighed and shut my eyes.

This was strange: I was now infinitely more aware of his hand around mine and at my back which felt like they were stinging. I felt him remove my hand from his shoulder so that he held both of them gently by my wrists between us. I waited expectantly. Tom made a noise like a sigh and suddenly I felt the weight of something small and burning hot, despite the cold, fall into my cupped palms.

I gasped; I nearly dropped it then and my eyes flew open as I stared into Riddle's very calm face. "Tom-"

"My gift to you." He said quietly. "You wished for more Time, yes? I'm afraid this was the best I could do..."

"Tom, you can't do this, you can't let me have this-" I choked, unable to speak. My fingers were curled into claws around the First Locket as if unwilling to close around it, unwilling to _accept _it...

"It's alright," Tom said.

I read the look in his eyes and was rendered momentarily speechless again; I croaked, "The Second...?"

He smiled slightly as if he had expected the question. "Yes."

But I did not see any sign of the gold chain of Slytherin's Locket around his neck, nor the greedy expression in his eyes like I had seen on the night of the Ball. Instead they were perfectly grey and focused on mine as he took the Locket from my frozen hands and put it around my neck himself.

There was a stinging sensation in my eyes and I realized, stupidly, that I was crying again. When he pulled back he did a slight double take. Then his stormy eyes softened and he said very softly, "Happy Birthday, Ariadne."

Oh, but he was very cruel. I had to understand how much the Locket meant to him...what a sacrifice it must have been for him to let go of it, this tenuous connection to the power he so desperately desired...and give it to me. I couldn't...I didn't...

It took me a while to find my voice."I..." I cleared my throat. "I have something for you too."

He raised an eyebrow and I brushed away the tears still clinging to my lashes. I tried to smile. "You have to close your eyes, though."

His eyes betrayed his curiosity but he closed them.

I stared at him for a moment.

Then I took a deep breath, stretched up to my toes because he was so tall, and kissed him.

**A/N: ...**

**Merry Christmas, everyone.**


	21. Story

**Disclaimer: **Nope, not mine.

**A/N:** Haha, pardon the cliffhanger in the last chapter. I sincerely hope this one is to your liking. I'm personally suffocating from all the fluff right now. Yes, we've reached that part—but fortunately/unfortunately, it won't last for long...

I was also rifling through my previous chapters and noticed certain errors regarding characterization of certain characters and I will indeed go back and attempt to amend them as soon as I am finished with this story. Please forgive me; I'm only young and I'm still learning.

Without further ado, here is the next chapter.

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 20: Story**

_Then I took a deep breath, stretched up to my toes because he was so tall, and kissed him._

It wasn't anything elaborate. Nothing was- was _open_, anyway. I just sort of pressed my lips, very softly, to his. They were warmer than I thought they would be. It was a warmth that spread throughout my whole body, a fusing, melting heat that made my blood sing and my lips sting.

After what seemed like eternity but in reality were only a few seconds, I pulled away and stared anxiously up at him. His expression was blank but he seemed quite frozen, like a statue. I said his name once and his eyes flickered to mine where they burned so fiercely that it was very hard to hold his stare. They searched my own, hungry for the answer to some unknown question and whatever they found must not have been enough to satisfy him for he looked slightly frustrated.

"Happy Birthday," I said.

He looked rather taken aback, but the frustration cleared from his face somewhat. Seemingly unconsciously, he took my hand in his and we began to revolve again on the spot while his eyes, although still fixed to mine, wandered far, far away...

When I woke up in my bed in the morning, I was slightly saddened to be woken up from my wonderful, if rather hazy dream. I wondered sleepily why I was still in my school uniform and why there was a strange, stinging sensation on my lips, as though I had burned them somehow. Then I caught sight of the scarlet Christmas flower lying on my bedside table and I jolted upright in bed with a roar of shock.

It wasn't- I _hadn't_ imagined that?

Images ran through my mind as if on a tape that had been on fast forward...the house of cards...the red flower...falling snow...and...

I gave another roar again as my hands flew to my throat. I let them follow, trembling, the thin chain that was there until I encountered something small, oval shaped and searing hot, even through my school blouse. Quickly, I pulled it out.

And then I held the First Locket, Rowena Ravenclaw's, up to the thin morning light.

It glimmered feebly and its sapphires that made up the ornate 'R' on its surface shone like tiny stars in the silver-white metal. I marvelled at how heavy it was despite its size and how very hot it was in my palm. A wild excitement filled me even as a small part of me whispered reason in my mind...I pushed it away...I could think about that later...

"Oh!"

I dropped the locket; my hands flew up to my lips this time. I had...I had...

In the light of day that could inject both logic and embarrassment into memories of the night earlier, a hot red flush crept up my cheeks. I _had_ done that. Good God...Riddle must be furious...

Riddle! I looked at the window again and swore. It was morning! I had to see him about my corpus potion—

Good God, was that the _time_?

Shaking my head, I dressed into new clothes as quickly as possible with a mind so distracted as my own- it took me a moment to realize that I was strangling myself with my own pantyhose than tying on my scarf- and, robes backwards, tie askew and buttons on my shirt done up in the wrong places, I barrelled out of the Gryffindor Tower and sprinted to the blank stretch of wall next to the tapestry of dancing trolls.

I burst into the Room, knocking over several small tables in my agitation. Dishevelled, my searching eyes zoomed in immediately on Riddle who was lying with his legs stretched out on the couch, a book in his hands.

We looked at each other for a moment.

"Happy New Year," he said.

"What?" I said stupidly.

His eyebrows arched and he looked amused. Then suddenly I remembered that last night...I lost track of my thoughts for a second...last night had been New Year's Eve, of course. Still, I was surprised that Riddle didn't seem at all angry, or furious as I had expected...instead he was looking at me now as though I posed some distant and fascinating question to him. In fact, in comparison to my hectic and flustered appearance, he looked quite serene.

I stared at him, my whole body taut and tense. Then I relaxed, folding my arms together and grinned ruefully at him. I tested the waters. "Definitely better than last year already, I reckon."

A touch of humor curved the corners of his mouth. "I don't doubt."

I laughed outright at this, partly in relief because things did not seem to have changed too much between us and partly because I rather liked seeing him early in the morning, and then I kicked the door shut behind me.

888

I was outside the castle, sitting down in a nicely hidden area under the shade of several trees just beyond the Black Lake. The grass here was long; I was almost hidden by it, and yellow and white wildflowers surrounded me as I rested, deep in thought.

I had been...inexorably cheerful when I had gone down into the Great Hall this afternoon for lunch. Draco and the others had been startled by my sudden swoop upwards in mood, which had been at an all time low only yesterday, to the point where I actually burst inexplicably into song at the slightest provocation.

"What's gotten into you?" Ron had said in amazement and I had just laughed.

"It's just a nice day, isn't it?" I answered and then burst into uproarious laughter as if I had just told a splendid joke. Ron's eyebrows had risen almost up to his hairline and he exchanged glances with Harry and Hermione who wore the same confused expression.

"What?" I said defensively. "Can't I have a laugh now and then?"

"Sure, if you're not barking mental," Ron said. "I thought you were still hung up about the Ba-"

But Hermione kicked him under the table and he abruptly fell silent with a sheepish expression. I just laughed again and waved a hand as if to say what's passed is past and turned to Draco who looked bemused.

"So, how did your night go?" I said lightly as I cut my steak and kidney pie. I was suddenly very eager to hear about what I had missed at the Ball, despite the fact that I had shied away from event the barest mention of it previously. "You know, with Augusta."

Draco turned quite green and Ron and Harry sniggered; even Hermione had trouble maintaining her tense, worried face as she hid her smile.

"Yeah, go on Draco," Ron chortled. "How was it?"

Draco sneered but his face was a brilliant pink and I looked between the two, mystified. "I don't understand. What happened?"

"He had a bit of a nasty shock," Hermione stage whispered, "when he realized that she was related to one of our classmates back at home."

Draco made an angry noise and I stared uncomprehendingly at him. "Augusta...Burke?" I said slowly, although I racked my brains for the familiar names of the Hogwarts students. "Augusta...Augusta..."

"Augusta Longbottom," Hermione said. "Our friend Neville Longbottom's grandmother."

My mouth dropped open and I quickly shut it, for I wasn't supposed to have recognized the name. "So why's he so...?"

"He and Neville," Hermione began, "they don't exactly get along..."

"Wouldn't that just do him in, if it turned out Neville had a secret Granddaddy Draco?" Ron said, chortling to Harry and they sniggered again.

I bit my lip to suppress my laughter. In my most sincere tone, I said, "Sorry about that, brother."

"Yeah, well, you should be," Draco muttered angrily, "you're the one who made me bloody ask her in the first place!"

"So what happened?" I said. "When you found out?"

"I ditched her amidst the Frittering Fairies," he said and I whistled lowly between my teeth.

"Bet she didn't like that."

He drew himself up and looked down at me in his most haughty manner, the effect of which was somewhat ruined by Ron and Harry collapsing in fits of laughter on the other side of the table. Hermione looked like she was biting on the inside of her lip as she said, "Well...no, not really," she admitted. "Augusta-er-Mrs Longbottom—as it turns out, is actually quite talented at the Bat Bogey Hex."

"Really?"

"Couldn't even see his face, there were all these great giant flapping things on him," Ron said cheerfully and Draco, seeming to have had enough, stood up. He made a rude hand gesture in Ron's general direction and left the Hall, his back very straight and chin held high.

"So...you're alright now?" Harry said awkwardly.

I grimaced. I didn't think that my foul mood had been that noticeable. "Yeah, it's all good."

But my hand crept up to touch the Locket around my neck even as I said the words.

Now, amidst the grass and melting snow, I forced my mind away from its path and picked one of the flowers bobbing its white head in the wind next to me. I held it up so that the breeze lifted its petals and with my other hand, removed the First Locket from under my blouse.

I turned it once in my hand. Immediately the flower began to wither and shrivel before my eyes, its feathery white petals turning yellow, then brown and finally black...

I turned the Locket again. The process reversed at once, the black petals turning yellow then pure white once more. Then I watched as the petals receded into the stem, as did the leaves and roots until there lay nothing more than a smooth brown seed in my palm.

I shivered. To control Time! What a great and terrible power...

I picked another flower, a violet this time and held it up. But just as I was about to turn the Locket in my hand, a butterfly alighted on it, large and glowing orange with black markings. It was beautiful and I watched it in wonder as it beat its delicate wings slowly as it teetered on the flower's petals. A thought came to mind, unbidden, and I recoiled instinctively, surprised that I should even have thought such a thing.

I looked at the butterfly. Still...I was curious...

I turned the Locket in my hand. Before my wide eyes, the butterfly's movements slowed until they became little more than a feeble twitch. Its wings dulled to a dry brown and grew brittle until they finally collapsed in on themselves. The butterfly gave one last twitch and was still.

It fell off the violet and into my hand. Abruptly, I was filled with an irrational panic; I turned the Locket in my hand, hoping to bring it back to life. Nothing happened. I turned it again and the butterfly remained in my palm, as shrivelled and unmoving as ever.

"It's dead."

I gave a start and looked up at the expressionless face of Riddle, who had apparently been watching me. "That's why it won't work," he said, nodding at the Locket, "because it's already gone."

I looked back at the butterfly. A part of me felt sadness at being the reason for its death and I let it fall from my hand. "This is very dangerous," I murmured, more to myself.

Tom looked at me for a while longer and then sat down on one of the raised roots of the tree behind me. I swiveled around so we were facing each other and met his eyes.

"You have the Second Locket," I said quietly. His gaze bored into mine and he nodded. Without taking his eyes off me, his hands slipped under his collar and pulled out a long, gold chain. On the end of it was a locket, about the size of a chicken's egg and marked with a serpentine 'S' made out of gleaming emeralds. It was handsomer than Ravenclaw's and far larger...and I was filled with a dim sense of foreboding as I looked upon it.

"_How_." I tried to put every ounce of bewilderment I was feeling into that single syllable.

He twirled a blade of grass between his long fingers and said calmly, "Perhaps you've been wondering where I was these past few days."

"I know where you were," I said sharply. "In the forest, with the diadem."

Tom gave me an impenetrable look. "I was in Borgin and Burkes."

"Borgin and...?"

"A shop in Knockturn Alley. I work there sometimes, when I can. During the holidays normally. I returned there after Christmas, when I was summoned by Mr Burke to attend to one of our regular clients."

"You were _working_?" I said, stupefied. "Why?"

He sent me another unreadable look. Then he moved from the tree root so that he was sitting amidst the long grass, directly in front of me. "I should start from the beginning," he said quietly. "If you would listen."

"I would."

Tom was silent and I watched him play with the blade of grass in his fingers. Then he threw it away and sighed. "In the time of the Founders," he said, "Salazar Slytherin created two Lockets: one for Rowena Ravenclaw and one for himself."

"Because he loved her," I recalled.

"Yes," Tom said dispassionately. "You know what happened next. Slytherin disagreed with the other Founders. He left the school. But his Locket remained behind, along with that of Ravenclaw's."

"So it was in the school?" I whispered in shock. "Where you found it?"

His mouth curved slightly. "Shall I finish or do you want to do the honor for me?"

When I said nothing, he went on, "Ravenclaw was...distraught when she found out. She couldn't bear to have anything that reminded her of him within the castle's walls and she knew that he had left his Locket with her, because she knew him as well as she did herself. Ravenclaw knew that he had a secret place, although he never disclosed to her its location and so she endeavoured to find it herself and the Locket within it." He paused.

"Rowena Ravenclaw was renowned for her cleverness. She managed to find the Chamber and open it," Tom sounded a little bemused. "When she returned with the Locket, she wished to have nothing more to do with Slytherin and so she sought out Godric Gryffindor and asked him a favour: to hide the Locket where she could never find it.

"I understand that Godric Gryffindor kept the Locket for some time, for he was uncertain of what to do with it. Ravenclaw had not told him of its power; however, she once mentioned the power of her own as Gryffindor had often wondered why she still wore it long after Slytherin had gone. He realized then, what he had to do and so, borrowing Ravenclaw's Locket, he returned it to Slytherin's successors, in his line."

"He...travelled in time?"

"Gryffindor felt that because the Locket bore Slytherin's mark and was made with his own magic, it should remain within his line," Tom said quietly. "And so he passed it down to my great great great grandparents...on my mother's side." His tone became bitter. "My _mother_," he said, "ran away with the Locket when she eloped with my father. And when he left her, while she was still pregnant with me, she became desperate. She sold the Locket to a man by the name of Caractacus Burke, where it was in turn, years later, sold to a woman called Hepzibah Smith."

"That was where you were," I murmured in realization, imagining it in my head. Tom, who was so handsome, who had flattered and flirted with an old woman, a regular client, surrounded by her priceless relics and treasures...who had let her show him her most valuable of all her possessions: Hufflepuff's cup and the Second Locket of Slytherin...and then...

"Tom, you didn't _kill_ her, did you?"

A thick silence hung between us as I waited for his answer.

"No," he said flatly, "I didn't."

"I had to ask," I muttered. "But you stole the Locket from her? How did she not notice it gone?"

"Miss Hepzibah has a great many possessions that are precious to her, and a great many hiding places to stow them in," Tom said quietly. "I only took one item from her and replaced it with a very convincing copy. I learned many things about recognizing fakes at Borgin and Burkes."

He sounded slightly wistful when he said that he had only stole one item and I took this to mean that Helga Hufflepuff's cup remained as of yet in Hepzibah Smith's possession.

"How do you know all this?" I asked him. "About the Founders, I mean."

"When I found the First Locket, there were pages of a journal enclosed within it," Tom said thoughtfully. "Ravenclaw's, I'm sure of it."

I nodded; I remembered how a page filled with Slytherin's words describing the nature of the Twin Lockets had been found along with R.A.B.'s note inside the fake Horcrux that Dumbledore had shown us so long ago in the past, yet so far into the future. He had told us a version of the same story, although there were a few inconsistencies...for instance, he had thought that Riddle had obtained the Second Locket before he had the First...

That was another thing I wanted to ask him and when I next looked up at Riddle, his grey eyes were burning with amusement. "I expect you want me to tell you how I found the First Locket as well?"

I half smiled. "Please."

"They said Ravenclaw died of a broken heart," he said, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, "but she must have hid the First Locket before she did. It was an accident when I found it at the end of my fifth year. I was in the highest part of the Astronomy Tower because Professor Reed had asked me to stay behind to assist in putting away the telescopes...I was left alone and when I looked up at the sky I thought at first that it was a star, far more luminous and large than any I had ever seen...but I knew the charts and realized my mistake quickly. I reached up and it fell into my hand; I opened it and read its contents and...I knew what power I possessed.

"And so I claimed the First Locket for my own."

"It fell into your hand?" I repeated in disbelief. "Just like that?"

"Ravenclaw prized knowledge over all else," he reminded me. "It was a very advanced illusion...I expect that only those who could recognize the error in the sky without knowing about the Locket beforehand could be deemed worthy by her magic to obtain it."

"And Professor Reed never noticed it?"

Tom's only response was a slightly self-satisfied smirk.

"The Astronomy Tower," I said suddenly. "That's the highest point of Hogwarts, isn't it? And Ravenclaw's symbol..."

"...was an eagle, yes," Tom finished with a thin smile. "Very good, Ariadne. I suspected then that Slytherin, whose symbol was a snake, would naturally have left his in the lowest point of Hogwarts, that is..."

"The Chamber of Secrets," I whispered. "But it was already gone by then."

I fell silent, thinking about all he'd told me, turning each piece of information over in my mind. Finally, the full story. Everything that I had wondered since the beginning of this mission...but I had never in my life dreamed that it would come from the mouth of the Heir of Slytherin himself...

"Do you know, Ariadne?"

I looked up, frowning. "What?"

His gaze was very steady. "The power of Slytherin's Locket."

I stared at him. Then I said, quietly, as I recalled Dumbledore's words from so long ago, "It reflects one's desires," I said, "and allows the user to manipulate them as well."

"Very good," Tom said again and this time there was no humor in his face.

I attempted a grin. "I did my reading."

"It would seem so," he replied and suddenly there was a hungry look in his eyes, the same as the one that been there after I had kissed him. He leaned forward, and I mirrored him unconsciously. "You have many secrets, Ariadne de Lioncourt."

"I thought they no longer interested you," I hedged. "Because you knew that all your questions will be answered...eventually."

" 'Eventually' is a long time to wait," he murmured.

I looked down at my hands. "I guess I'll have to stay shrouded in mystery for a little longer, then."

Tom looked amused and I threw a daisy at him, smiling wryly. The sun burst out from behind the clouds then, bathing us in warmth and around Riddle's neck, the Second Locket caught its rays, winking gold at me. A question rose to my lips then: _what do you see in the Second Locket, Tom? _before I realized that the answer would not be one that I would particularly want to know. Some questions were better left unasked.

"What is it?" Tom said quietly and I knew that he had felt my hesitation.

A pink flush rose in my cheeks and I looked down at my hands again because another question had arisen in my mind, one that I was desperately curious to ask him. "About last night..." I said awkwardly.

An ink black eyebrow rose but despite his otherwise impassive expression, something in the peaceful atmosphere had changed suddenly: the air lay thick and charged between us. "What about it?"

"You gave the First Locket to me," I said softly, wonderingly. "And, well... I know you. I know you don't do these things lightly. So, tell me-because I'm very curious..." I picked another flower and began to twist it in my hands , "...does that mean that you trust me?"

I didn't look at him as the silence dragged on, nor did I respond to the weight of his burning gaze on my face. I began to tear the petals off the flower, one by one. I saw him reach out a hand towards me and became very still as he carefully picked up the First Locket from where it had been resting against my chest and held it up to the light. He played with it absentmindedly, his thoughts seemingly far away.

"Keep it safe," he said quietly.

I tore off the last petal and when I next looked up at him, there was something in his eyes that was almost warm despite their frozen color. And then I had to look away because my heart was fluttering again, like a foolish bird trapped in a cage...

In the days that followed, we began working on my corpus potion again. Day and night, I was constantly surrounded by multitudes of potion bottles, flasks, cauldrons and vials while he monitored my response to different draughts or elixirs—it exhausted me, but I felt for some reason that he was trying to make up for the lost days in which I had been left alone.

"How do you feel?" He would say sharply, assessing me with his calculating eyes. Sometimes—and these were my favorite times—I would say that I was fine and then he would give a satisfied nod and the day would progress as normal. But more often than not, I could not reply at all because I would simply vomit, or my throat would swell up so much that I could only gag, or I would faint and only return to consciousness several hours later.

Today, after holding my breath so as to avoid the bitter taste of the potion, I stretched out my arms and legs and flexed my fingers. I looked up at him and raised my eyebrows. "I feel quite the same, to be honest."

He relaxed. "And the nausea...?"

"I- well, I suppose it's gone."

"You don't sound too certain."

"I don't think there's anything left to chuck up, alright?" I said impatiently. "I feel fine, Tom, I-oh. _Oh_." I blinked. "Oh no."

I heard him approach. "Ariadne?"

I inhaled slowly through my nose and tried not to feel my panic. "I...I think I've gone blind," I said as calmly as I could. "I can't see anything."

There was the sound of many drawers being opened and rummaged through and much clinking of vials. Finally there was a hiss as-presumably- something was being dropped into a cauldron and then what felt like a glass vial filled with something very cold was being pushed into my hands.

"Drink this," Tom ordered and I did.

I shuddered violently as the potion went down, for it was like swallowing ice. I waited for something to happen but everything remained pitch black, as if someone had drawn a curtain over my eyes.

"Say something," I said.

"My name is Tom Riddle," Tom said and I let my eyes wander to the source of the sound of his voice.

"Hello, Tom Riddle."

"Has your sight returned?"

"Not yet. Can you keep talking?"

"What shall I say?"

I thought about it for a moment. "You're not wearing your uncle's ring anymore."

There was a pause. "No," he said, "I returned back to the hovel."

He did not say anything more and I didn't press him further. I was beginning to notice a change in my blackened sight- although gradually, dim pinpricks of light were shining through the darkness, which slowly became brighter until my vision returned, although so blurry that I couldn't distinguish between colors. I shook my head, slightly disoriented by all of this.

When the colors sharpened and I could see again it was his face I saw first and I was momentarily tongue-tied for he was closer to me than I had expected, his face only inches away from mine. I had been about to say 'thank you', but what flew out of my mouth instead was, "D'you wanna go out with me?"

Tom frowned. "What?"

I turned bright red. "Hang on, that didn't come out right. What I mean to say is, would you like to go out to Hogsmeade with me? We've been in the Room all day and I reckon me going blind is a sort of sign that it's time to take a break..."

He folded his arms across his chest and appeared to think deeply about my proposition, a slight frown coming to his face. Then he nodded. "Alright."

"Yeah?" I said, absurdly pleased. "C'mon then, the next carriages are in a few minutes and I don't plan on _walking_ there again..."

Knocking over several bottles of potion in my excitement and haste, I donned my outer school robes and dashed out of the Room, only glancing back to make sure that he was still behind me. We reached the front entrance of the castle just in time for me to aggressively flag down the last carriage and I clambered inside, Riddle entering with much more composure after me and taking the window seat on the opposite side. A Gryffindor boy and a Ravenclaw girl that I didn't recognize were already there and they gaped at the sight of Riddle and I together.

Tom nodded at them. "Davies, Spinnet, how are you?"

"Good thanks, Riddle," the boy replied and I turned my head to look out the window as they carried on a pleasantly shallow conversation. It occurred to me as I was watching the grounds go by, once again covered in white due to the recent heavy snowfall, that I had never actually been anywhere with Riddle before that was not out of necessity for his Horcruxes and my corpus potion and the thought made me nervous and slightly giddy.

When the carriage finally stopped, I had become so fidgety that I actually kicked the door open and jumped out, sinking ankle-deep in snow. Behind me, Riddle bade goodbye to the other two and stood by my side, wearing a slightly bemused, yet exasperated look. "What has gotten into you?"

I didn't answer, choosing instead to wrap my red and gold scarf more tightly around my nose and mouth; the exposed parts of my face stung in the biting wind. "Nothing," I said, my voice slightly muffled. I shifted restlessly on the balls of my feet. "Where do you want to go?"

"You're the one who wanted to come here, Ariadne," he reminded me.

"Let's just take a walk around then," I suggested. We saw a fair few more Hogwarts students as we wandered the grounds and but no one else seemed to recognize us. I felt a little bit awkward because I had never met with Riddle under casual circumstances before and I was therefore uncertain of appropriate conversation topics that didn't revolve around lockets, Horcruxes or my corpus potion.

"It's...nice weather, isn't it?"

"No better than yesterday," was his indifferent reply and I felt disheartened and also slightly annoyed. Honestly. _What_ did people talk about on these sorts of-good Lord, was this a date?

I felt foolish for not realizing the full implications of visiting Hogsmeade with Tom earlier-I had sincerely just wanted to get away from the Room- but then again, I wasn't even sure if we were _in that way_. Certainly, I had kissed him and he had been stunned by it, shocked even- but he had made no mention of the subject since. It was so _odd_. I had been sure that he would not have reacted well, once he had gotten over his initial surprise...

But he was here with me now, walking calmly in the snow by my side, completely unfazed.

So what then? Was the feeling mutual? Somehow I doubted this very much. But then...he had given me that Locket, hadn't he? For all my limited experience with romance, I was absolutely certain that mere Potions partners were not often in the habit of giving one another extremely powerful and supposedly lost magical artefacts...

I tried to consider my situation from an outsider's point of view. I was alone, outside of school, with a boy that I liked very much. I had spent much time alone with said boy previously. Said boy had asked me out to the school Ball (although that had not ended well). I had kissed said boy before...

Surely then, this counted as a date. I had very limited experience with this. I don't think I had ever even thought of the possibility of the _idea_ of the subject in the past three years. I mean-I guess it was partly because I didn't really find any of the boys back home particularly interesting...I mean, nothing had caught my attention, really...

I cringed at the implications. So, I only needed for someone to try and _kill_ me before I noticed them, yeah? How dense could I get?

No denser than this conversation- or lack thereof, I thought sullenly as I plodded through the snow. I sneaked a glance at Riddle- he didn't seem to notice the awkwardness, as he looked immensely deep in thought. It was rapidly becoming his standard expression these days: this slight frown, his grey eyes cool and unconcerned as though preoccupied with matters of greater importance than that of the mundane. I just wish I knew what he was thinking about.

The familiar frustration I was beginning to associate with both the loss and presence of Tom Riddle was beginning to build up again; however, I was momentarily distracted by the large snowball that hit its target with a _thwack!_ at the back of my head.

I whirled around. "Oi!"

"Sorry!" A thin Gryffindor boy with untidy black hair called out, but there was a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth and around him, his friends roared with laughter.

I narrowed my eyes at them. "_Plureglacius volito_," I whispered and I watched in satisfaction as a hundred snowballs rose from the ground at once all around me and Riddle.

The smile drained from the boy's face. "You _wouldn't_," he said, horrified.

"You'll get yours, Potter!" I laughed, loud and maniacal as I flicked my wand and the snowballs zoomed towards him in vengeful droves and he swore as he tried to duck and dodge them, but to no avail. His friends roared even harder at the sight and by the end it was as if he had turned into a very thin snowman.

"He's gonna get me back for that later," I muttered to Riddle and I hurried the both of us off, before Charlus Potter, who was my notoriously troublemaking classmate and something like Harry's great grandfather, could retaliate.

"Is that common?" Riddle said, sounding amused and I laughed, slightly breathless from the run.

"Yeah, well, if I'm not chucking stuff at Draco it's normally Potter, so..."

Feeling as if the ice- heh- was already broken between us and considerably more relaxed, I said, "I miss this."

He looked enquiringly at me and I elaborated. "When I was a kid," I said as he fell into step beside me, "my dad had this thing about going out in the snow. Said it was good for you, strengthened your immune system, right? Of course my mum knew better, and she often scolded my poor pa for teaching me such nonsense-but he'd always reply that he hadn't caught his death from the cold yet, what was she making all the fuss for? One time they had this huge argument about it-I guess she just got fed up or something- and my dad," here I laughed outright, "well, he was always a bit of a nutter, not to mention had a bit of a rebellious streak.

"So, one fine snowy morning, me and mum awoke to this giant racket, I mean seriously loud, and we looked out the window and...there he was." I shook my head. "Completely starkers, banging mum's kitchen pans as he strolled around in our own backyard singing Christmas carols at the top of his lungs. I mean _really_," I said in exasperation. "Of course, mum threw a raging fit and threatened to throw him out right then and there if he didn't come back in...he did, after a while. Sick as a dog for ages afterward, though. But then it became a tradition of a sort, afterwards, for the whole family to go out in the snow after Christmas. Nothing special. We just sort of-sort of walked around our neighborhood for a bit, made snow angels and snowmen until one of us complained..." I smiled faintly and gestured around. "That's just what this reminded me of. I miss that."

Tom watched me as I trailed off, feeling slightly embarrassed. It wasn't like me to reminisce so openly about a part of my life that I preferred to keep private and I felt all at once fierce and conflicted; very warm and very cold for reasons that had nothing to do with the weather.

"What were they like?" He said quietly. "Your parents, I mean?"

I nearly smiled; whether by chance or not, he had used the same phrasing that I had when I had once asked him about his grandparents, so long ago. And, like him, I felt rather uncomfortable with answering the question.

"Well, my pa, he was..." I began uncertainly, "he was very kind. He's spare a coin for anyone who needed it and wasn't at all preoccupied with getting it back, which often got us into a few tight spots, money wise I mean. And my mum...she had a right temper but she did everything...with her whole heart, d'you get what I mean? If she loved someone, she'd love them fiercely until the very end; if she hated someone, well...let's say you would know about it." I paused. "But she was always one for second chances, so she never hated for too long."

"You must have loved them very much," Tom said and my ears reacted to the almost undetectable false note in his voice: he sounded sincere but just beneath that, slightly scornful, almost mocking.

"I told you not to pretend with me," I snapped at him and his eyes narrowed.

"Fine," he said coldly. "Then, Ariadne, I think you are foolish and silly for simpering and sighing about how wonderful and perfectly lovely your parents were, when the most interesting thing they had ever done in their lives was die-," his face twisted into an ugly sneer, "- in front of you. Is _that_ more preferable?"

I stared at him.

"That's just it, Tom," I said lowly, fighting my anger. "I hate...talking about them like this-like they're alive, as if their deaths were erased somehow...it's like focusing on the good and leaving out the bad. But then you get this-this _half_ story, not a whole. You have this malformed, twisted idol that you shaped to dramatise their life, make them seem more heroic or whatever-and you're doing them an injustice. You're saying that these people, these people who had meant so much to me in life, with all their faults and hurts, are somehow not good enough in death. Not everyone dies a hero, Tom. Not everyone's death means something. But what else am I supposed to say? These imperfect words..." I struggled for a moment and then met his eyes coolly. "I loved them. Then they died, but I still love them. That's all that should be said."

He looked at me, long and calculating and I stared back, rubbing my mitten-covered hands together and occasionally blowing hot air into them.

"Are you cold?" He said abruptly.

I nodded and the atmosphere lightened somewhat. "Yeah. I could use a drink, I reckon."

He gave me another shrewd look and sighing, I wandered off, not even bothering to check if he was behind me. My gaze alighted on the Three Broomsticks, which was packed as always and I slowed down...but then I quickened my pace, taking a different path.

"The Hog's Head?" Tom said quietly. I had to admit that its dingy and dark appearance did seem less appealing next to the cheery warmth of the Three Broomsticks but I just shrugged and entered. I ordered two Butterbeers at the counter and picked the table that was furthest away from the windows (which were so dirty that no one could see anything through them anyway).

We were both silent at the table; my eyes darted around over my Butterbeer at the other customers. There were a few shady looking characters: a hooded man sitting alone at the bar counter with a glass filled with something darkly glutinous; three very old women, their faces also covered by black veils, that appeared to be doing their knitting together. But there were no other Hogwarts students apart from Riddle and I.

"You don't want to be seen with me." He said. It wasn't a question.

"Don't be ridiculous," I said tersely. "Spinnet and Davies saw us earlier, remember?"

"I mean your friends." He said flatly and there was no denying it when his eyes bored into mine like that. "They don't like me, do they?"

"Whatever gave you that impression?" I muttered under my breath. I sighed and put down my glass, stalling a little. "They...they come from a background where they've learned to recognize Dark magic when they see it. And when they see you...well..."

Tom snorted. "You would be surprised what some of your _friends_ do outside school hours, Ariadne," he said and I knew that he was thinking of Ron and Harry's involvement in his Knights of Walpurgis.

"I reckon they'd be the same with me," I pointed out and he inclined his head.

"You told me that you weren't related to any of them," he said suddenly and I nodded.

"Not by blood, no."

He raised his eyebrows. "So you and de Lioncourt...?"

"We aren't related, but he's my brother," I said firmly.

Riddle traced the lip of his glass with a long finger absentmindedly. "How did that come about?"

I was surprised at the direction the conversation had turned toward-we were discussing_ Draco_, of all people- and I drew patterns in the dust that covered the table as I mulled his question over.

"I suppose," I said slowly, "at first it was because we were the ones that didn't belong, in the beginning. Ron, Harry and Hermione- they knew each other as friends well before I met them, and Draco knew them too but...well. He's not the exactly the easiest person to get along with. I didn't like him either, not at first. But underneath all that load of rubbish and prejudice and whatever-deep underneath, mind you...he can be so good-hearted, when he wants." And he understood what it was like to feel trapped, to wish for a clean slate so badly that you'd kill for it, if the opportunity presented itself. Although I didn't mention any of this to Riddle.

I glanced up at him and he was watching me with a curious, unreadable expression. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I was thinking," he said, "that you see much more than you should in those that don't deserve it."

He met my eyes and I felt suddenly disconcerted, unsteady. The stinging feeling erupted again in my lips and something hot and _alive_ snaked its way deep in the pit of my stomach. Placed flat against the surface of the table, my palms were slick. I could hear my heartbeat roar in my ears. I felt like I were resisting two very instinctual forces- the need to lean closer to him and the need to run away.

I cleared my throat and jerked my head at the exit. "Shall we?"

Expression unreadable yet again he nodded; I tossed a Galleon on the table and he caught it before it landed.

"I'll get that," he murmured, handing it back to me and replacing it with one of his own; I quirked a brow at him.

"I can't let you pay for our date, Ariadne," he said with the same deceptively blank expression but with something that was barely a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth and I gaped at his back as he left, his long cloak billowing behind him.

888

What was left of the Christmas holidays passed much in this vein: with Riddle. When we weren't working on my corpus potion in the daylight hours, we were normally wandering the grounds, although few people ever saw us what with most of the students still away and Riddle's apparently unconscious tendency to seek out only the most deserted places to gallivant about in. We did argue, sometimes to the point of duelling again; sometimes we barely spoke at all.

One such time we were sitting under the beech tree by the lakeside; he was reading some thick and cruel book and I was staring out at the Lake, twisting the chain of the First Locket absently around my finger.

"I didn't."

I looked at him in faint surprise and he was watching me over the top of his book. "I didn't make the Horcrux. The diadem is in the castle...but only as a diadem."

There were many things I was feeling and that I wanted to say, but because I knew that Tom would hate that and perhaps already himself for not doing what he felt he needed to do, I simply nodded.

"Okay," I said, and we did not speak again for the rest of the afternoon.

On the last day of the holidays, when the majority of the students had already returned to Hogwarts although some were still trickling in early in the morning the next day, I was with Tom in the Room of Requirement. I was sitting on the hearth by the fire, because a frequent side effect of either my corpus or one of our potions was for me to lose sensation in the tips of my fingers and toes, and to be more susceptible to the cold. Riddle was sitting on the red velvet couch and was watching me, as he so often did these days.

"Tell me something about you," I said, as I held my hands closer to the fire.

He said quietly, "What do you want to know?"

I thought for a moment. "Tell me...why immortality?"

"There is nothing worse than death, Ariadne."

It was silent as I thought about what he said; I weighed and turned it over in my mind; I tested the truth of it and compared it to what felt true.

"I don't agree," I said carefully and he made a noise of derision. "I think that there can be many things worse than death."

"And what is it do you fear then, Ariadne?" He jeered.

"I suppose...living on."

His eyebrows rose worryingly high in disbelief and he opened his mouth in a sneer but I held up a hand. "Wait," I pleaded. "I know that it sounds ridiculous. But you have to ask yourself, in regards to death...is it harder for the one that leaves or the one that is left behind?" I hesitated. "What hurts more: to lose life or love?"

But when I looked at him, his expression was very cold and I turned back to the fire. "Never mind. I'm sorry I brought it up."

He didn't say anything. After a minute, I said, "Can I ask you something else?"

"Another theory?" He said, his tone laden with sarcasm.

"No," I said, frowning. But I didn't say anything more, instead picking up a random book from one of the piles reading the floor and burying myself gratefully into the distraction.

Much later, the clocktower boomed and both Tom and I looked up.

"Well, Ariadne," he said lazily, seemingly over his dark mood, "it's the last night of the Christmas holidays. What do want to do?"

My mind went blank; there was a pop as something very large materialized in the center of the Room and all the blood rose to my cheeks as I frantically wished it away whereupon it disappeared with another popping sound.

"Was that a _bed_?" Tom said in amazement and I snarled wordlessly at him. It took me a minute to get my head back together and all the while, Riddle's dark eyes glittered with the air of one who was thoroughly enjoying themselves.

I shot him a warning look before I said carefully, "The house dormitories will be full tonight. I'm not much looking forward to it."

"Neither am I," he said with an absurdly grave expression, although there was a suspicious curve around the corners of his mouth.

"I don't especially want to answer their questions on what happened during the Ball, either," I muttered darkly and his face became grim. "So...I was thinking of staying here. In the Room."

"In the Room?" He echoed. "You're not returning to the Gryffindor Tower?"

"No."

Hi eyes rested on mine and I had the sense that he was following my train of thought; imagining what I was going to say before I said it.

"I'm afraid I can't allow that," he said carefully, deliberately. "As a Prefect, it is my duty to make sure that all students are in their beds by the appointed time. If I were to leave this Room, then I would have no choice but to inform your Head of House."

I nodded slowly, pretending to think it over as if he hadn't just told me an outright lie. I met his eyes. "Then stay with me."

He looked at me for a long time and then that strange expression passed over his face again. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes," I said. There was a long silence and then he gave a slow nod, never taking his eyes off mine.

"You don't mind?" I said disbelievingly.

He shook his head, the strange look still there. It disturbed me; it was like he knew something that I didn't...something that was somehow important...

I cleared my throat. "I guess then...I'd better go change..."

I returned some minutes later, toothbrush in hand and found him pacing the room. He looked up and did a double take; I glanced down at the sunshine-yellow nightgown that I was wearing.

"I found it in the Room's bathroom," I said casually and he nodded, sitting back down on the couch, his posture rigid and his hands curled into fists over his knees. I lay down on the long sofa across from him and covered myself with the blanket, watching him through slitted eyes.

He was tense; barely moving in his seat as he stared at the fire. Honestly, I scoffed, it's not like I was wearing anything revealing: it was an old fashioned cut and the thin cotton material extended all the way to my wrists. He had even seen me in it once before...

It couldn't be because we were spending the night together; we had already done that several times previously, working on his Horcruxes. Although, I thought with some worry, this was the first time since I had kissed him...and I had certainly never _asked_ him to stay before...

I yawned as I stretched and then I groaned out loud. "I definitely think I won't get any sleep tonight."

I peeked over the covers at him but he didn't crack a smile; the only change he had made in his position was that his eyes had slid from the fire to me. I sighed and I turned so that my head was propped up on one elbow, facing him.

"Read to me," I said.

That got a reaction out of him; he frowned. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I know for sure that whatever you're reading will definitely put me right to bed," I said cheekily.

He snorted and I noticed, with some satisfaction, that his posture had relaxed slightly. "That's hardly a good reason."

"I might learn something," I said, smiling. I was already feeling rather drowsy but I was curious to see if he would do it.

He sighed but to my immense surprise, he pulled the book from the couch and let it fall open on his lap. "_Chapter One_," he began, "_The Properties of Moonstone and its Uses in Potion Making_."

I mimed snoring and he gave me a look.

"_A gemstone of medium value, moonstone has luminescent properties and, if powdered, is a key ingredient in strengthening draughts and love philtres..._"

True to my word, I was asleep by the second paragraph, although whether my by request or his own desire, he continued reading late into the night.

**A/N: Alright, let's analyse this royal mess between Ari and Tom.**

**First of all, although Ari likes him, she's not in love with him yet. Tom is not in love with her either, nor does he like her in the same way Ari likes him. At the moment, he is simply choosing to go along with this whole situation, even if it means being perceived as someone's "boyfriend" merely because he is curious to see where it will take him. This is all very new to him as well, as he had only been concerned with himself prior to this and although he knows he is admired, he had never returned interest in any other person to the same extent that he does Ariadne. And so, being not only in JKR's words, a psychopath, but a brilliant one, he is very much interested in seeing the cause and effect relationship between what he does and how Ariadne reacts. In short, he wants to see how much power he holds over her now that he is aware that she likes him **_**in that way.**_

**On the other hand, a part of him recognizes that he does appreciate her company; however, the extent of this is unknown to him. And there is that certain part of him that is fascinated by her, although this part remains for the most part unacknowledged but still present.**

**Finally, because he is not as psychopathic as his elder self, certain things Ari does can affect him like every other human teenage boy. Because I do believe that there is always hope.**

**TL;DR—Are Tom and Ari a couple?** **No. They are only two people that have been thrown together by unfortunate chance and mutual—but very different types of—interest in one another.**

**Happy New Year!**


	22. Rumor

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay; hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 21: Rumor**

"...that's her, isn't it?"

"Yes. Did you hear about what happened on the night of...?"

"Mm-hm." One of the girls sitting in the desks behind me clicked their tongue sympathetically. "It's terrible, isn't it? I don't think I've ever seen something so embarrassing in my life..."

"You know all the girls were waiting up for her in our dormitory?" The second girl said. "But she didn't show up at all and turned up at a most _obscene_ hour the next morning...we were most disappointed, let me tell you..."

"How dreadful! Where do you think she was?"

"Probably crying her eyes out, I expect," she said. "I can't even imagine;_ I_ had never been treated so rudely by a boy before..."

"It's rather unlike Tom Riddle, isn't it?" The girl's friend said. "He's always very polite to me, I've always thought he was really quite nice..."

"Well, Love Potions are bound to wear off eventually..."

"You don't really think she...?"

She made a hushing sound; her friend giggled and my quill snapped in my hand.

"_Reparo_," I hissed, jabbing my wand at it. I flexed my fingers, glanced over at Draco who had apparently heard nothing and crossed out the fifth spoiled sentence in my notes that we were supposed to be copying off the board.

"Just ignore them," Hermione muttered next to me. I didn't say anything but sighed when the Charms professor announced the end of class; I hastily scrawled in the last lines off the board and ran for the exit. Unfortunately I caught a good glimpse of the girl who had claimed to have been waiting in my dormitory and sadly, she did not look as ugly as I had imagined her to be when I was listening to her.

I ducked my head down as I passed several groups of black-clad students in the corridors; after a day like today, I quickly learned that if I ran for it, they were less likely to recognize me as "that odd exchange student that was stood up by the Slytherin prefect" and continue on with their own business. Otherwise...

Well, that was _not_ the first conversation running along those lines that I had overheard this morning, shall we say.

You'd think they'd have better things to talk about after the holidays, I thought venomously as I passed a tad too slowly by a group and their conversation halted abruptly as they turned to gape at me.

Feeling thoroughly depressed, I wandered into the dungeons for Potions fifteen minutes early. It was empty- I had beat even Riddle in my arrival- and thankful for the brief break in whispers, I took up my seat at our twin desks and began to set up my cauldron.

"Oh-you're early, Miss de Lioncourt!" Professor Slughorn looked surprised as he entered in bright crimson robes.

I smiled weakly. "Did you have a nice holiday, sir?"

"Yes, it was very, very well- an old student of mine, Tilly Toke from Ilfracombe- you might have heard of her, she's very famous- invited me to spend the holiday with her family in Cannes..." He trailed off, a rather dreamy expression coming to his face, which then cleared abruptly as his pale round eyes rested on me. "But never mind that...how was your Christmas, Miss de Lioncourt?" He looked very serious.

"Good," I said uncertainly. "I spent it at the school, so..."

"Naturally, naturally," he said dismissively. "But I mean how was your _Christmas_?" His eyes widened slightly and I was spared giving a response by the sudden flow of students trickling into the room.

Immediately, I buried my face behind one of my textbooks as the noise swelled, pretending to busy myself with looking at the strengthening solution we were supposed to be brewing today. I flicked through the pages without seeing them as I waited for them to pass by my desk; I felt several stares burning into the side of my face and I shifted uncomfortably in my chair.

"It's upside down," Tom muttered as he took his seat next to me.

"Thanks," I said exasperatedly and set the book down. I dragged my hands down my face, rubbing my eyes wearily.

He tilted his head to one side. "Is it that bad?"

"Worse," I said glumly.

"You know better than to listen to them, Ariadne," he reprimanded me lightly. "You did expect this, after all..."

"It's..._insulting_," I said, unable to contain my outrage. "It's been a week already and the whole school's under the impressions that I'm a sort of- sort of-"

He waited patiently as I struggled to describe exactly what they thought I was. When I couldn't come up with anything suitable, he said lazily, "Shall I step in, then?"

"Tom, even prefects don't have the power to stop the rumor mill," I said. "Besides even _they're_ talking about it..."

"That's not what I meant," he said quietly. When I only stared at him in confusion, he added, "Perhaps they would not think the same way about you if they thought I returned your affections?"

I raised my eyebrows. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

Riddle's mouth curved into something like a smile. "Oh. The usual way, I expect."

It took me a moment to understand what he was implying and my face became very hot. I licked my lips nervously and his eyes followed the movement.

"Tom," I rasped, "I-"

"HO HO HO!" boomed Slughorn somewhere above us and I made a convulsive movement, spilling half of our ingredients all over our table and my lap. I swore and Riddle sent everything back to its rightful place with a lazy twitch of his wand. I glanced in the Potions professor's direction; he wasn't as close to us as I thought; his laughter at something one of the other students had just told him had just reverberated against the dungeon walls in the wrong way. Looking around, I noticed that I wasn't the only one to have been startled; several people were staring at the ceiling with rather bemused expressions.

I flicked my eyes to Riddle; he seemed to be suppressing a smile. Suddenly irritated, I began to grind the moonstone we were using with the mortar and pestle with a vigour that was only slightly excessive.

"In any case," he said after a while, "you should be focusing on more important things, Ariadne, than mere gossip."

"Yeah, like what?" I said morosely.

He gripped my wrist, stopping me. "Like," he said quietly, "your corpus."

I tugged my arm away from him, rubbing the red mark that was forming there. "I feel fine," I said tightly.

"Really." He said, a bite of sarcasm in his voice. "After last night...?"

I didn't reply. When we had been working on my potion last night I had reacted poorly to one of our draughts and the Red Threads had made their appearance once more. Riddle had disappeared and I must have followed them in the deserted corridors of Hogwarts for at least half an hour before the Threads faded away into nothing, as they did. I had found myself wandering the dungeons and when I turned I saw Riddle, who had seemingly followed me during my dream-like state, had been watching me with an impassive expression. I hadn't known how to explain myself.

We continued brewing our potion in relative silence until finally I worked up the nerve to blurt out, "Do you believe in Fate?"

"That's a deep question," Riddle responded; he sounded amused.

"Don't laugh," I said seriously. "Do you?"

"I believe that my future is within my own hands, Ariadne," Tom said, "but I do not deny that there is always some form of outcome to all things."

"Outcome?"

He sighed, rubbing his jaw. "Give me your hands."

I did and he curled them into fists, placing them on the desk.

"Left or right?" He inquired politely.

"Left."

He opened my hand so that my empty palm was facing upwards. "Wrong."

"And if I had chose the other hand?" I challenged.

"But you didn't. Do you see what I mean? Your choice determines the eventual outcome. It's your decision that matters most in the end."

I frowned, hadn't Luna of all people once said something along those lines...?

"So nothing is predetermined?" I asked him.

"I believe so," he replied. "You don't agree?"

"Honestly? It doesn't feel like I've had a lot of choices, lately." I stared forlornly at our sluggishly bubbling cauldron.

"Then why did you bring up the subject?" He said.

"I heard a theory," I said, fidgeting under the table, "that Time and Fate were...intertwined."

"Daedalus," Tom said softly in recognition.

"So you know?" I wasn't that surprised.

"I've come across it," Riddle answered thoughtfully. "It's a strange theory. The idea that we all are robbed of our free will and follow both the Strands of Time and Threads of...Fate..." His face took on a shrewd expression as he looked at me. "That what you believe those threads were?"

"I never said that," I said uncomfortably.

"Ari," he said patiently, "it's called a_ theory_ for a reason. It has never been proven. And even if such a possibility existed that it were true," Riddle held up a finger as I opened my mouth to argue, "I highly doubt that we would be able to see the Strands and Threads that Daedalus spoke of."

"Then what's in my wand, Tom?" I said. "If Strands of Time don't exist?"

He hesitated and I barrelled on, "I don't know what I believe," I muttered, "but I don't think anything happens randomly. There's always a reason, always an explanation for _why_..." I trailed off. I looked down at my right hand, still closed into fist and I opened it.

"Nothing," Riddle murmured, but I shook my head and traced the two long white scars that cut across my fingers and palm.

He met my eyes. "You didn't choose that hand."

"Didn't I?" I murmured and the sound of Professor Slughorn's sonorous voice warning the class that we only had fifteen minutes broke into the tense atmosphere; I gave a slight start and began ladling our potion into the flask that had been given to us. Still, Riddle kept a thoughtful look even when the lesson ended.

"Hello, Tom," I heard familiar voice say suddenly and I dropped one of the large glass containers I was holding in my shock. I swore and attempted to scrub off the frogspawn off my skirt and jumper.

"Hello Miss Fawley," Tom said. "Your holidays have been well?"

"Oh yes," she said, nodding and I recognized her as the girl who had claimed to be from my dormitory from earlier—Nora Fawley. She was very pretty, with shoulder length blonde hair and eyes the color of bluebells. "Daddy brought us to France for the holidays, it was all very exciting. We met Bowman Wright, you've heard of him..."

"I have," Riddle replied and they made incomprehensible conversation about some famous something-or-other for several minutes. I continued cleaning up the frogspawn with my sodden rag, pretending not to listen and fighting my growing sense of irritation all the while.

Finally, the girl laughed and tossed her hair. "Well then, I suppose the real reason I'm here is to ask..." Her blue eyes widened with concern,"... how _are_ you?"

"How am I?" Riddle repeated.

"I heard about what happened," she said, lowering her voice, "...it must have been a real shock, waking up from it."

"I'm sorry?"

I coughed, loud and hacking and their heads swiveled in my direction.

"Oh," Nora said looking surprised, as if she hadn't noticed me there before. At least she had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Yeah well, we probably should get going," I said pointedly. "Time, time and all that."

"Yes, of course..." She tossed her hair once again and smiled at him as she left and I threw my frogspawn-soaked rag sourly into my bag.

"The rumor's been going around that I slipped you a Love Potion," I muttered.

"That's not what I've been hearing," Tom said with a smirk, "I heard that you were blackmailing me."

"Why don't you ask Miss Fawley then, I'm sure she'll be only too happy to divulge all the filthy details..." I scowled at him and followed the other students out of the dungeons, smelling strongly of swamp. "Look at me with my pretty golden hair and eyes the size of bloody dinner plates..." I muttered darkly to myself and tossed my hair for good measure. This did not end well; it whipped me full in the face and I ended up spitting out several strands bitterly.

"_Scourgify_," Tom said and the swampy odor lifted from my clothes. He sounded half exasperated, half smug. "Are you jealous, Ariadne?"

"Jealous?" I echoed scornfully. "_Jealous?_ If I were jealous, all I'd have to do is make more Love Potion and you'll come running back right to me. You heard me right," I shouted at a group of Hufflepuff girls that had broke out into whispers as we passed them, "Page 468, _Moste Potente Potions_!"

"Jealous, HA!" I said as the girls scattered off in what looked suspiciously like the direction of the library.

"I'll see you in the Room," Tom said and there was a smirk playing around his mouth.

"Fine," I muttered, turning around.

"Oh and if it matters," he said carelessly and I looked back at him, "it's the wrong color."

"What is?"

He reached up and tugged at the end of my ponytail.

"Better," he muttered and with a slight smile walked away.

"DID YOU SEE THAT?" I yelled at another passing group. "IT REALLY WORKS!"

888

I shuffled and reshuffled the cards in my hands as I set up another game of solitaire for what felt like the tenth time that day. I was shut up in my dark corner of the Library again in the free period I had between now and my next class to avoid the usual crowds. It would have perhaps been wiser to spend the time making a start on the enormous pile of homework that we'd already been given but I did not want to make my self-imposed isolation any more miserable than it already was.

I rocked on the back legs of my chair, my hands behind my head as I abandoned my shuffling and stared aimlessly at the ceiling. Suddenly the sounds of violent swearing obliterated the Library's silence and startled, I let the front legs of my chair fell back on the floor with a bang. I hadn't realized that someone else was in this spot.

I got up and wandered over to the next aisle where a dark haired Slytherin boy was attempting to scrub off a large ink stain from his parchment.

"Alphard? Alphard Black?" I said in surprise.

He looked up and gave me a strained smile. "Ah, you remember. How are you, Ari?"

"Good," I replied. "Are you alright? I heard-"

"Oh that? Just a little mishap with the ink bottle, it's fine." He looked slightly harassed and I took the seat across from him. "I mean, I've only been working on this bloody essay for the past couple of hours or so, but no problem, _really_..."

"Here, give it." I stretched out a hand and he handed it over to me; I began siphoning off the ink with my wand, a useful spell that I had watched Hermione do before to Ron's homework once. "Better?"

"Thanks," Alphard said gratefully and he rubbed his eyes. "Sorry if I bothered you but this essay's been a right pain in the-"

He stopped himself and glanced at me with a guilty expression but I only laughed.

"D'you need any help?" I asked, smiling. I'd forgotten how much I would have liked Alphard if only I hadn't met him during the stressful period when my corpus had started to appear. "I can't say that I paid attention in all my classes, but..."

"Did you by any chance pay attention in Potions?" Alphard said gloomily. I cracked a wide grin.

"Definitely," I said and he seemed to look marginally more cheerful. An hour later, he was finishing his conclusion and I was building another house of cards on the desk.

"Done," Alphard said, throwing down his quill in disgust.

"Why d'you even have to do this?" I said, scanning his essay. "This isn't due for at least another week or so."

He grinned unapologetically. "My Head of House is making me get a head start on my work because I failed...well, not _all_, but a fair few of my classes last term. I've been shut up in this damn Library since I got back from the holidays."

I made a face. "Sorry."

Alphard rocked back in his chair, looking at me thoughtfully. "I suppose you're here to avoid the gossip mongers?"

"How'd you guess?" I said dryly.

He grinned again. "You didn't actually slip Riddle a Love Potion, did you?"

"I didn't-" I began hotly and he held up his hands.

"Don't be mad, I had to ask."

"Your argument in the fifth paragraph is weak," I said severely, handing him back his essay and he chuckled, rolling it up and stuffing it into his bag.

"You sound like him," he informed me and I scoffed.

"Well, maybe if you listened to him more then you wouldn't be in this mess," I said and but he only laughed.

"Come on, everyone knows sixth year's a joke," he said arrogantly. "Besides, I'm certain I don't need to know any of this nonsense about _moonstone_ and bloodroot to get where I want..."

"And where is that?" I said, amused.

Alphard stopped rocking in his chair and leaned forward, his eyes glittering with real enthusiasm. "You," he said pointing at me, "are looking at the future Seeker of the Falmouth Falcons."

"Sorry?"

He actually looked offended and then horrified when he realized that I was being serious. "The Falmouth Falcons?" He repeated disbelievingly. "They're only the number one in their league, come _on_..."

"Right, right." I nodded.

"It's been a lifelong dream of mine," Alphard said looking slightly wistful, "I mean, I doubt dear old mummy would approve, but I'm personally hoping she'll cork it before the end of the year-it's alright," he said as I choked, "she's a right old hag, I doubt anyone would miss her..."

I hid a snort and sent the house of cards toppling down; I gathered them into my hand and shuffled them absentmindedly. A slight frown came to Alphard's face as he watched me.

"You're not a pureblood, are you?" He said abruptly and I looked up. "I thought perhaps 'de Lioncourt' was one of the older French families..."

"What gave me away?" I said evasively.

"I've never yet known a pureblood family that allowed their children to play with Muggle toys," Alphard snorted. "So you're either half-blood or Muggleborn."

"What does it matter?" I shrugged.

His eyes were shrewd. "Does Riddle know?"

"Riddle? He never asked."

A strange expression passed over his face and he looked disturbed. "You really didn't give him a Love Potion, then?"

"No," I said, my voice thick with exasperation. "What? _What?_" I repeated irritably as he gave me another strange look.

"He's never said it explicitly but those of us that know him are aware of his... dislike... towards Muggles. I guess if he hasn't asked, then he already knows..." He trailed off thoughtfully. "I suppose he likes you, then."

I flushed despite myself and he smirked. "It would certainly explain a lot about some of the things he asked me to do before..."

"Like what?" I said curiously.

He wagged a finger at me reprovingly. "I can't tell you that Ari, he'll kill me."

I chuckled morbidly and stood up. "See you around, Alphard."

That was the last time I could bring myself to do any sort of schoolwork; most of my time these days was spent staring at the windows and thinking wistfully of the Christmas holidays. It was no different to when I had been attending school back home; I simply did not adjust well to the start of term.

"Focus, Ari," Dumbledore said quietly as he passed by the long desk I shared with Hermione and Draco and I shook myself out of my stupor.

"Sorry, sir." I tried again at the armadillo I was somehow supposed to be turning into a kettle. I jabbed my wand at it and steam blew out of its snout and tail but nothing else happened. Its tiny yellow eyes blinked peevishly at me.

I sighed and put my wand down. I cradled my throbbing head in my hands and breathed deeply through my nose. As I closed my eyes, I realized that the whispers that had been going on since the start of the class could be heard more clearly. It didn't seem to be about me this time, for their voices sounded too solemn for it to be mere gossip.

"Did you hear about what happened yesterday...?"

"Yes, it's awful isn't it? Poor Bertram..."

"He helped me with my Charms homework, he was so clever..."

"I hear he's in St Mungo's now."

I glanced guiltily at Hermione, knowing that she wouldn't approve of my eavesdropping but saw to my surprise that she had been listening in too.

"I don't understand," I muttered. "What happened to Bertie?"

Her face became pinched with anxiety. "It was terrible, I was there. It was in the middle of class- we thought he was choking at first because his whole face was purple and it looked like he couldn't breathe- and then he just started screaming right there in the classroom like he was being _tortured_..." She shuddered. "He didn't stop until Professor Flitwick got two of the other students to take him to the Hospital Wing. If he's in St Mungo's now, then it must be serious."

"What was wrong with him?" I said curiously. "Was he hexed?"

"No one knows," she replied. "But he'd been acting very strangely that day- he wouldn't talk to anyone at all..."

Professor Dumbledore began to wander along our aisle at this point and hastily I turned my attention back to my armadillo which was still tetchily blowing out soft clouds of steam. I gave it a prod with my wand and its snout lengthened slightly to resemble a spout of a kettle. I almost felt pleased with myself, but Dumbledore apparently did not feel the same way.

"Yes," he said, wiping off the steam that had fogged up his glasses, "for homework: _practise_."

The clocktower chimed the hour and signalled the end of the lesson. Quickly I stood up, eager to barrage Hermione for more details once we left the classroom but those hopes were instantly dashed when Dumbledore called out, "Ari, may I see you for a moment?"

Surprised and slightly troubled by his request, I lingered back until the rest of the students had left the room and then I approached his desk at the front. "Sir?"

He smiled at my expression. "You needn't look so apprehensive, Ari. I only wanted to ask if your stay at Hogwarts has been well so far, seeing as you are relatively new to...er...things."

"It has its ups and downs," I said, grinning.

"Indeed, indeed," he chuckled. "You seem to have adjusted well enough, in any case."

Dumbledore had barely finished his sentence when the First Locket burned suddenly against my skin; my hand jumped towards it reflexively but I lowered it at the last moment. This did not go unnoticed and he surveyed me with penetrating blue eyes over his half moon glasses.

"Ari," he said quietly, "is there anything at all you wish to tell me?"

"No sir," I said quickly. He looked at me for a little while longer until he nodded and leaned back in his chair, wearily it seemed.

"Forgive me," he sighed. "It's been a rather tiring year. My holiday, I'm afraid, was not as relaxing as I'd hoped...and, with recent events..."

"Do you mean Bertie Caldwell, sir?" I said interestedly and then realizing that I had been slightly tactless I said hurriedly, "Sorry- I just thought..."

"You are quite right," he said heavily, "although perhaps now is not the time to speak of it. You have Herbology next, correct?"

I nodded and I thumbed the Locket absentmindedly through my blouse.

"It would not do to keep Professor Radvire waiting." He smiled at me and, understanding that I was being dismissed, I bid him goodbye and left the classroom.

After Herbology- which was sweaty, filthy work as always- I was sitting by the fountain that Draco was using to clean up, nursing a bite on my hand that I had sustained from the Venomous Tentacula (it was teething). As I held a cloth to the wound to staunch the bleeding, my thoughts returned to the Locket, which had been pushed thoroughly out of mind the minute the Tentacula had wrapped its thorny feelers around my neck.

I don't suppose it was _normal_ for the Locket to burn like this? It was certainly always a few degrees hotter than my skin but never to the point of severe discomfort as it had been in the Transfiguration classroom.

I stole a surreptitious glance down my shirt. There was an angry red weal there, just a few inches south of the hollow where my collarbones met and where the Locket rested against my skin.

But then, I reasoned, this was not the first time this had happened. Some time the day before I had felt it too, so perhaps this was merely another strange quirk of the Locket of Ravenclaw...but then, I thought uneasily, wouldn't Riddle have warned me...?

"Do you know her?" Draco muttered to me out of the corner of his mouth and I glanced up. To my astonishment and dismay, a pretty girl with shiny blonde hair and ridiculously big blue eyes was approaching us- Nora Fawley.

"Yeah, I know her," I mumbled.

She stopped in front of me and I climbed to my feet warily.

"Hello," she said.

"Hey," I replied. And, because she did not say anything further, I ventured reluctantly, "How are you?"

"Good," Nora answered absently.

"Oh," I said, "that's...good."

Draco watched our stunted conversation in amazement and I fidgeted awkwardly as the seconds ticked past in an uncomfortable silence, which Nora did seem to notice.

"I just want to say that I am sorry," she said abruptly in a strangely toneless voice, "for spreading rumors about you."

"Oh," I said again, this time taken aback. "It's, erm, no problem. Thanks."

Nora stared vacantly into the air above my head before she gave a curt nod and wandered off while I watched, crestfallen.

"That," Draco said emphatically, "was probably _the most_ awkward-"

But he did not finish his sentence for an ear-splitting scream sounded out in the courtyard, echoing against the stone walls.

"Nora? NORA, STOP!"

I looked up just in time to see the shimmer of some dazzling light above Fawley's head, catch the absent smile that she offered to her panicking friend.

And then she disappeared into a column of blue flame.

I yelled in shock and horror and we took off towards her, pushing past the screaming crowd.

"_Aguamenti_!" I shouted, pointing my wand at her and although a jet of water poured out of its tip, it seemed to have no effect on the vivid flames, the heat of which I could feel yards away and which singed the hair on my arms.

"It's cursed fire!" Her friend wailed and Nora's screams pierced through my eardrums as she flailed and thrashed on the floor. "Someone get help!"

"Here," a deep voice said from the crowd and a tremendous wave of fierce relief washed over me as I saw Professor Dumbledore emerge swiftly from the chaos, led by another Ravenclaw student. He walked straight into the blue flame with seemingly no concern for his own safety; my yell was drowned out by a sudden, freezing, whistling gale of wind and then Nora's terrible screams died down into piteous moans as the blue flames vanished. I watched ashen-faced as she gave several struggling breaths, her mouth foaming, until her eyes rolled back until I could only see their whites and her head hit the stone floor with a dull clunk.

I started forward. "Is she-"

"She is not dead," Dumbledore said quietly as he crouched down and passed a wand over her, "but her burns are severe and she needs medical attention."

It was true: the wavy blonde hair that I had once coveted were now nothing more than yellow tufts in heavily blistered, lobster red skin. Her whole face was swollen and shiny with burns and there was a pungent smell in the air like charred meat. I swallowed, feeling sick.

"I'll get Madame Laroche," I muttered and, casting one last glance at the pitiful figure on the ground, I manoeuvred my way through the murmuring crowd that was beginning to gather round and ran for the Hospital Wing.

888

The news that Nora Fawley had set herself on fire spread rapidly throughout the school over the next short hours. It travelled at breakneck pace- infinitely quicker than the news about Bertram Caldwell- to the point that at breakfast the next day, those who had not even been present at the time were recounting the scene with a sort of horrified relish to their peers.

"I feel ill," I mumbled, pushing my breakfast plate away from me. "Honestly, everyone else can remember it perfectly well without them lot shoving it into their minds..."

Draco did not reply; he looked slightly green as the whispering group down the table began to describe just exactly the shade of diseased scarlet her skin had turned.

I couldn't imagine what had possibly possessed Nora to harm herself in such a way, or at all. I did not know her, but I remembered the way she had spoken to Tom at the end of Potions...she had carried the confidence and charm of a girl groomed to expect the best, if slightly vain.

Chills crept up my spine as I thought of the sight of her ruined, burned face and scorched hair as I had last seen it and I pushed the thought away queasily.

I considered the possibility that she had been cursed, bewitched somehow. But who would do it? She was well liked by most people, I knew, notwithstanding myself, but _I_ certainly did not have the skills nor the temperament to perform such Dark magic...

A thrill of foreboding ran over me. Troubled, I made some sort of excuse to Draco as I stood up and wandered out of the Hall, listening to snatches of whispers in the corridors. They were all about Nora- no attention was spared for me this time. I would have grinned but the muscles in my cheeks felt stiff; it was no laughing matter.

I found Riddle sitting halfway up the spiral staircase leading to the tower where I had Divination. A book was open in his lap and he was eating an apple. He looked up at the sound of my approaching footsteps and he closed the book.

"Hi," I said. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," he replied, looking mildly surprised. He shifted over on his step and I sat beside him.

"Nice spot," I said.

"I do like my isolation, from time to time," he said dryly. I didn't say anything; I was too busy trying to think of a way to ask him what was on my mind without resorting to outright accusations.

Thankfully, he noticed my unease before I had the chance to say anything. "Is something bothering you?"

"Did you hear about what happened yesterday?" I said.

"Ah," he said, understanding, and his expression became grave. "I did. What happened to Miss Fawley was unfortunate."

I nodded mutely and watching me, he said softly, "There's something else."

"Did you do it?" I said quietly.

There was a silence. I expected him to be angry or even indignant, but when I stole a glance at his face, it was completely blank.

"Ariadne, I promise you, that was not my doing," he murmured and his voice was so transparently honest that I believed him. It occurred to me then that he had not even been present at the time as he would have had Prefect duties at around that same hour. I looked down, embarrassed but relieved, as if there had been a knot in my chest that had suddenly loosened.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I just..."

"You didn't know anyone else who could be capable of performing such a curse?" He said shrewdly and I shrugged.

"Something like that, yeah." I half smiled. "Sorry again."

He said nothing but merely offered me the unbitten side of his apple. I took it from him and bit into it. I was reminded of the old fairytale...but I pushed that quickly out of my mind.

"I would have thought that you'd have been pleased with this turn of events," Tom remarked lightly. When he caught my expression, he added, "You didn't like Miss Fawley, did you?"

"Not really," I said, staring at him, "but I'm not so cruel as to take delight in someone's misery."

The unfathomable expression returned and I sighed, taking another bite of his apple. A thought occurred to me, unbidden and I turned to him. "Hang on- you don't think what happened to Nora is related to what happened to Bertie Caldwell?"

Tom tilted his head to one side. "What makes you say that?"

"Isn't it strange that both of them were completely fine and then suddenly they just completely lose their heads?" I stared out the thin arched window set in the wall next to me.

"The timing was rather spectacular for it to be mere coincidence," Tom agreed.

"Coincidence..." I echoed.

He glanced down at me with an expression close to exasperation. "Still thinking about Fate, Ari?"

"Some things are inevitable, Tom," I murmured and he stiffened. I ignored him. "I just can't imagine, though, what would set them off like that, like that..."

"Perhaps they were driven mad," Tom said quietly and I looked up.

"What do you mean?"

"It's just a thought," he replied, "but you can hardly say that their actions were the epitome of _sane_."

I hid a shiver as I looked out the window again. Riddle's words lingered in my mind in the days that followed. He was right, of course- those hadn't been the actions of a sane person, I thought, as I remembered her madly rolling eyes. But I couldn't even begin to imagine then what had happened that had caused a perfectly normal, healthy girl to lose her grip on reality in the space of a few short days...

However as term progressed, these thoughts were pushed to the back owing to the increasingly large stacks of homework I was beginning to drown in. I was once again spending the free time I had between classes in the distant sections of the Library. I was paying for my earlier laxness in regards to my homework schedule- I had several things that were all very unpleasant due next week and so I was now frantically trying to do as much research for an essay I knew would take days to complete to make room for a chart I knew would take weeks.

"Complex Transfiguration..." I took the book off the shelf and flipped it open, struggling with its weight as I balanced it on my knee.

It had been a while since the incident with Nora and school gossip informed me that she was currently recovering in St Mungo's hospital alongside Bertram Caldwell who would not be coming back to Hogwarts for some time as he was being currently re-taught how to read and speak. Nora was faring much better than he was, although she would never be as pretty as before, owing to the cursed nature of the fire that she had used against herself. But she was expected to return back to school in a matter of weeks, which most students were grateful to hear.

Riddle and I were no longer a much abused subject of conversation (although we did crop up from time to time) and I was free again to wander the grounds as I pleased without the cacophony of murmurs and whispers that had been my constant companions for so long.

I ran my finger down the book's index, murmuring to myself, "Armadillos...cats...cats...bats...do cats eat bats?"

I continued to mutter as I rifled patiently through the thick, dusty volumes. It was only when I heard a resounding crash the next aisle over followed by a multitude of (very colorful) curses, that I stopped work and peeked my head around the bookshelves. What I saw delighted me.

"Alphard Black," I said, grinning, "we can't keep meeting like this."

The figure lying on the ground- he appeared to have lost his balance on the shelf-ladder he had been using- and surrounded by fallen books did not smile. He clambered to his feet with a wince, looking thoroughly bad tempered.

"Are you okay?" I asked him and he just lifted his shoulders sullenly. "You haven't forgotten to do another essay again, have you?"

"No," Alphard said, sounding strained.

"Damn, I could have used the help," I mused. When his face remained stony, I grew fractionally worried- he had always seemed very carefree and his sudden moodiness unnerved me because it was so out of character.

He began to gather the books at his feet and after a beat, I stooped down as well, pulling them into thick stacks on the Library table.

"So," I said, in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, "how are the Falmouth Falcons going?"

He threw the bundle of books on the desk with an exclamation of deep distaste and turned to me suspiciously. "Why would you want to know about that?"

I waved a hand vaguely. "Cure my ignorance, I suppose."

"They're going fine," he said shortly. Then, seemingly unable to help himself, he added, "Won 270 to nil last match."

"Wow, really?"

I kept on asking questions about the match (it _did_ sound interesting, the way he described it) and gradually his old enthusiasm returned and he seemed back to his normal self, if rather pale.

"Are you alright? You seem a bit peaky," I said after he had finished recounting how the Falcons Seeker had captured the Snitch from right under the other team's nose.

"I'm..." Alphard trailed off and he rubbed his eyes. "I just- I think I'm just tired. Late night meetings and all..."

"Meetings?" I said, my eyebrows shooting up into my hairline.

"What? Nothing," he said quickly but my mind was whirring- meetings? Meetings? Did that mean that the Knights of Walpurgis were still ongoing?

"When did you-" I had been about to push him further for details but the color had drained from his face and his eyes began to take on an odd, glassy look.

"I have such strange thoughts..." He whispered. I stared at him; there was something familiar about his expression...

"You're just tired," I said uneasily. "C'mon, let's go down to dinner...I always knew spending too much time in the Library was unhealthy..."

I convinced him to leave with me and we walked along the corridors towards the Great Hall. I babbled about unimportant topics as we did so, mainly to alleviate my own sudden tension and to distract Alphard from whatever thoughts were plaguing his mind. He seemed to come out of it and return to his joking self and my apprehension slowly faded as we drew nearer to the Hall. I was in the middle of telling a story about my last detention with my Herbology teacher when I noticed that he was no longer beside me. I whirled around and saw that he was standing beside one of the high, open archways, staring up at the sky.

"Alphard...?"

He didn't respond and a wave of trepidation rose over me. I stepped towards him cautiously.

"Are you alright?"

"I see it," he said suddenly.

"See what?"

"There!" He cried, pointing at the black sky. "There, can't you see it Ari?"

I moved beside him and peered upwards uncertainly. Apart from the stars, there was nothing that I could see. "What...?"

"The Snitch!" Alphard yelled and I stared at him. He looked extremely agitated and his face had turned a sickly pale. "It's right there! Right_ there_!"

"There's...nothing there."

"What are you talking about? Look, just look-"

"Alphard." I gripped his shoulder tightly and he tore his eyes reluctantly away from the sky. "_There is nothing there_."

He cast another longing but vacant stare at the sky and I realized with dawning horror why his expression had seemed so familiar to me. It was the one I had seen on Nora Fawley's face just moments before she had cursed herself...

"C'mon," I said urgently, "you're not well, let's go see Madame Laroche..."

He only looked at me, his features suddenly eerily blank as if they had been wiped completely clean of emotion. He nodded and I suppressed my sigh of relief.

I turned around.

I didn't see him climb onto the ledge of the arched window. I didn't see him stretch a hand out in front of him, as if her were grasping for something just beyond his reach. I didn't see him—not fall—but _step_ out into the air.

I only heard the whisper of wind, his scream and the crunch of bone against stone.

I turned around.

"Alphard!" I screamed. "_Alphard_!"

**A/N: There's only 4-5 chapters of PTL left (including Epilogue)—we're really nearing the end now. **

**Thank you again for all the reviews, favourites and alerts—I never would have come this far without all of you guys. Hope you're all rocking the New Year!**


	23. Edge

**Disclaimer: **Bah.

**A/N:** These kids are so cray cray.

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 22: Edge**

_"Alphard!" I screamed, "_Alphard_!"_

"...terrible, terrible, Albus..."

"I know, Noelle."

"The boy's parents have been informed. They're on their way now."

A deep sigh. "That is for the best. I'll see them in myself."

There was a short, pregnant silence and then: "But I don't understand...he wasn't pushed...?"

"He jumped," I spoke up hoarsely and both Professor Dumbledore and Madame Laroche stared at me. We were in the Hospital Wing; I was sitting on one of their beds while we waited for...I don't know.

Madame Laroche clapped a hand to her mouth. "He...?"

"He was...he was behind me and...when I turned around...he..."

I buried my face in my hands and Madame Laroche gave a dry sob.

"Ari," Dumbledore said gently, "did Alphard say anything to you, before?"

"No," I said through my hands. "Something about a Snitch. I don't know."

There was another silence. I didn't look up; I didn't want to see the fear on Madame Laroche's face, nor the grave expression on Dumbledore's.

"Noelle," Dumbledore said at last, "please look after Miss de Lioncourt while I am away."

"Of course, Albus."

"Ari?" He said quietly and I looked up. His blue eyes were very gentle."You have had a terrible night. You need rest."

I dropped my eyes back down to my hands. Madame Laroche began to busy herself preparing a flask of Pepperup Potion and I let my gaze wander vacantly along the floor of the Wing. I don't know how much time passed- whether it was minutes or hours- but suddenly the long nosed, freckly face of Ron Weasley was in front of me. I blinked, startled out of my stupor.

"Ron?" I croaked. "What are you doing here?"

He held up a bandaged hand. "I just arrived. Tentacula got me and Hermione reckoned the bite was starting to get infected...well, she was right of course," he muttered, looking dour. "I met Dumbledore on the way and he said you'd be here. He didn't look too happy, did he?"

I didn't say anything and he shot me a curious glance. "What's up?"

"Alphard's dead," I said and he sucked in a gasp.

"Dead?" He said incredulously. "What are you talking about, I just saw the bloke yesterday-"

"I saw it. He..." I broke off, shutting my eyes against memory. I was getting very good at pushing away unpleasant thoughts. But something that Ron had said resonated and grateful for a distraction, I focused all my energy into pondering the reason for why that was. It reminded me of something Alphard had said in the Library...that he was tired because...because of the late night _meetings_...

That had to be the Knights of Walpurgis, didn't it? I don't know why I was even so appalled by this...no, I was fooling myself. It was simple: I had underestimated Riddle's penchant for Dark magic...

Ron gave a muffled groan and I glanced up. He was rubbing his eyes and shaking his head slowly.

"You okay?" I said.

"Yeah," he replied, but a frown came to his face. "I've just…I've been having such strange thoughts..."

I stared at him. Then there was a bang like a shotgun and he was on the ground, bound tightly from head to foot by the ropes I had conjured out of thin air and my wand pointed at his face.

"What on earth is going on-" squawked Madame Laroche as he ran out from her office looking very flustered and I directed my wand at her.

"_Stupefy_!" I shouted and she crumpled to the ground as a jet of red light hit her squarely in the chest.

"Ari!" Ron choked out, clawing at the ropes around his chest, "Are you _mad_, what are you-"

I crouched down beside him and grabbed a fistful of his robes, hauling up. "Ron, this is very important. When was the last time you spoke to Riddle?"

"Riddle?" He spluttered. "I dunno, last night I guess- what the hell are you-"

"Listen to me! Did you have a Knights meeting last night?"

"Yeah-how'd you…?"

Face very pale, I let him go and stood up. I made a start for the doors and Ron yelled, "Hey! Are you just going to leave me here?!"

"Ron," I said urgently. "I'm really sorry, but you're in danger and this is the only way you'll be safe."

"In danger from _what_?"

"Yourself," I muttered but I was already in the corridor outside.

As I ran, I fumbled for the Map I always carried in my robes and followed its directions to the tiny black dot labelled 'Tom Riddle' until I found its real life counterpart. He was standing in front of one of the stone archways not unlike the one the one that Alphard had jumped from; it looked like he had just finished his rounds. He turned around, frowning and I stopped feet away from him. "Ariadne?"

"Tell me how to stop it." Each syllable rang through the air.

"What?"

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!" I shouted. "You've been testing the Second Locket, haven't you?"

He became as still as a statue but his grey eyes narrowed infinitesimally. Riddle regarded me coldly and then said simply, "Yes, I have."

Tears of fury sprung to my eyes and I spat through gritted teeth, "How do I stop it?"

"Ravenclaw's Locket," he replied, still looking at me as though I were some sort of fascinating specimen of alien life, "Both lockets reverse the other's magic."

I whirled around and sprinted again for the Hospital Wing; I burst through the double doors to see Ron, still bound, convulsing on the ground. His eyes were rolling back into his head and nonsense mumblings spewed from foam-flecked lips; it sounded like the names of his brothers. At his side, his hands clenched and scrabbled uselessly on the floor.

I ran to him and crouched down. I fumbled for the Locket and held it over him, uncertain of whether this was the right way to do it.

"C'mon," I muttered wildly. "Work!"

To my surprise, the chain grew hot and the Locket glowed searingly white. Then in a blink it was back to normal and Ron was stirring groggily on the floor.

"What...? What happened to me? Why am I tied up?"

I nearly sobbed with relief. I told him all that had happened-leaving out the Lockets, so it was a rather patchy recount- and he was stunned into silence.

"Blimey," he said shakily, "you won't catch me at another Knights meeting after this, let me tell you..."

"Did you see T-did you see Riddle speak to anyone else?"

"No, it was only a few of us he called up afterwards," he frowned, forgetting even that he was still tied up. "Me, Alphard...wait,"he said suddenly. "Oh hell."

"What?"

"Harry," he said, a look of dawning horror coming over his face. "He got him too!"

The blood drained completely out of my face. I scrambled to my feet was out of the Wing again, checking the Map for another minute figure. Horror, as ugly as a fevered nightmare, rose in me as I saw his tiny ink counterpart hovering very close to the edge of the Astronomy Tower balcony and I ran, my legs leaden, knowing I was moving too slow to stop it, to do _anything_...

I took the stairs three at a time, clawing my way up desperately and it was a twisted sort of miracle when I saw the familiar thin figure standing on the very same stone ledge that Riddle and I had once leaned against the night I had kissed him...

I didn't scream out a warning, didn't even call out his name. Instead, I simply sprinted towards him- he was rocking on the tips of his toes now, only inches away from empty air- and seized the back of his robes just as he began to fall. I dragged him backwards and we tumbled to the ground together.

As he struggled to get up, I pushed him back down, pinning him with an arm and fumbling for my wand with the other. But his knee came up hard and I gasped, winded; my wand flew out of my grip and clattered away.

"I have to kill him, mum!" Harry yelled and stretched out for the ledge and I slammed my elbow into his jaw so that his glasses flew off and he fell back on the ground. I threw my full weight on him, moving so that I was straddling his middle and pinned his arms down with my knees.

"Harry-_Harry_-"

He howled and thrashed under me. "I have to do it, it has to be me-"

One of his arms managed to get free and his fist caught me in the temple. I reeled back, seeing stars and he escaped my grip, struggling on fours to get back to the ledge.

"No!" I caught a fistful of his hair and yanked him back, I tackled him to the floor; my hand gripped around his throat.

"It's me, it's my fault!" Harry screamed, "_He's going to kill them, mum_!"

"I'm not your bloody mum!" I snarled at him and pulled the Locket out from under my blouse. It glowed white hot; Harry howled-

And then everything was quiet, the Locket only a silent warmth at my throat.

I stared desperately into his eyes, searching for some glimmer of recognition in their depths. A crease formed between his brows and he said, "Ari?"

I sagged with relief and scrambled off him. I buried my head in hands again to hide the tears running down my face and Harry looked around, shaking and covered in cold sweat as though he had run a race. "What-what happened to me?"

"I'm sorry," I said into my hands, "I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

"What are you talking about?"

"I helped him," I moaned, "I helped him make his Horcruxes."

Harry stared at me. He was squinting, blinking fast because he didn't have his glasses but there was no mistaking the expression of disbelief on his face. "Ari, what are you talking about?"

"I was dying." The words came out in a desperate rush. "I needed help, but there was nothing anyone could do- anyone except him. So I made a deal- his Horcruxes for my corpus defessum...my sickness."

I looked beseechingly at him, begging him to understand my fear, my reasons for what I did what I did. But he only stared back, his eyes wide with horror and revulsion. He looked as though he were trying to find a way out of the barrage of information I was giving him

"I don't understand," he said, at last.

And so I told him. I told him everything- about my corpus, about the Twin Lockets, where I had been the night of the Christmas dance and what had happened in the days succeeding between Riddle and I...

"I'm sorry," I said, again and again. "I'm so sorry."

But he didn't reply; he looked angry and sick all at once. He couldn't even meet my eyes. It had begun to rain; in the distance, thunder clapped and a bolt of lightning ran through the sky.

"I can't let anymore people die," I murmured to my hands, "I have to stop this. I have to stop him...but I..."

I looked directly at Harry. "I need more Time."

He met my eyes and then he understood; his hand flew to his wand but mine was already out.

"_Obliviate_!" I shouted.

His eyes slid out out of focus and his expression became dreamy; I caught him as he slumped down.

"I'm sorry," I said again.

I left him in front of the entrance to the Slytherin common room and returned back to the Hospital Wing where I fixed up the mess I had caused there as best as I could. And the whole time, I kept on thinking about the apple that Riddle had once given me, and by accepting, what that had meant for me...

"You lied to me." My words echoed in the empty stone corridor where Riddle was already seated on one of the archways, waiting for me. "You told me you this wasn't your doing."

"It wasn't," he replied, staring out at the rain. "Miss Fawley was the one who set herself on fire, not me."

"Don't play with me!" I shouted. "How could you? He was a good guy, how could...how could you..."

He tilted his head to one side and watched me. "How did you know I had been using the Second?"

"The Snitch," I said, closing my eyes. "He-Alphard- he wanted to be Seeker for the Falmouth Falcons...it was his dream, he said, his lifelong _desire_..."

"Bertram Caldwell," Riddle listed each of the names of those he had harmed in a bored voice, ticking them off on his fingers. "Ambition. He wanted to be academically and internationally recognized as an author. I made him unable to speak, write or communicate with the Locket's power.

"Nora Fawley. Vanity. She wanted to use her beauty to find herself a handsome husband and live in a big house with their children. I made her set fire to the features which she had prized for so long…"

I felt physically ill. "Alphard Black...he wanted to be a Quidditch player and you made him jump to his death. Ron...Harry..."

"Ah, that one was rather odd," Riddle remarked conversationally. "Did you know what his desire was, Ariadne?"

I shook my head mutely.

His eyes widened dramatically and he leaned towards me. "Why, he wanted to _kill_ someone!"

I backed slowly away from him and he stood up.

"Of course I had to oblige him...but, seeing as I unfortunately didn't see who he wanted to kill, I thought _himself_ would be a good start..."

"You're sick," I hissed at him but he only raised a disbelieving brow.

"Don't be so hypocritical, Ari. You yourself tested out the powers of the First Locket when I first gave it to you, did you not?"

"That was different!" I shouted. "No one got hurt! No one _died_ by my hands, _Riddle_!"

"Ah," he said, smiling broadly, "I think Miss Hornby would beg to differ."

"How-how _dare_ you-that was-"

"Different?" He shook his head slowly and approached me. "No, it's not, I'm afraid. You led Olive to her death because you were afraid to face yours... and I? I _ruined_ and _killed_ them because I knew that only I was worthy to wield the full power of Salazar Slytherin, and to use it as _I_ see fit. To establish wizards in their rightful place-on the _dust_ of the bones of _Muggles_," He spat out the last word and his eyes were wild with excitement. "In both cases, it is a question of the _greater good_. Was it better for Miss Hornby to die or yourself? Is it better that the Second's powers remained untapped and _wasted_...or that some would suffer in order to usher in a new era of _power_?"

I was backed up against the wall; he stopped advancing. He bent down and his lips were only inches away from mine.

"Exactly the same," he murmured.

A surge of pure hatred ran through me and then two things happened at once: at my neck, Ravenclaw's Locket became blistering hot and Riddle jumped backwards from me with a pained grimace. His hands were at his throat and when he took them away there a nasty red burn that roped around his neck. Reflexively, I touched my own but the skin there was perfectly smooth.

"Well," Riddle panted, "the First certainly seems to work better for you than it did me."

I gripped the Locket tightly in my fist and staggered away from him; when I was free from his sight, I bent over to the side of the outdoor path and was sick in one of the bushes. Coughing, and revolted beyond thought at everything I had gone through, I made my way to the Gryffindor Tower.

888

_"I need more Time."_

"Are you okay?" Harry asked me during our free period the next day. We were both working our essays on non verbal protective spells.

I forced myself not to look at the red marks around his neck from when my nails had dug into it during our fight and I nodded. "Fine."

"I heard about Alphard," he said quietly. "His parents collected his stuff in the Slytherin dormitory this morning."

I put my quill down and concentrated very hard on my hands. "Professor Merrythought's retiring because of it. I heard him at the staff table."

"It's Riddle," Harry said. When I didn't immediately reply he said, frustrated, "I just _know_ it is, Ari-"

"Of course it is," I said tiredly. "It was always Riddle."

I put my head on my arms. I needed time to think about this. About what I was going to do.

What better time than the present, as they say?

The First Locket that hung around my neck, despite its diminutive size, felt like an immeasurably heavy burden. I felt like I was being dragged down because of it. And it was a burden in every sense, because just by having it, I held the lives of an infinite number of innocent people in my hands. If I didn't reunite it with the Second in our future…

_"The world is running out of time." _Dumbledore's words from so long ago roared in my mind.

What was the matter with me? It was though I had suddenly been doused with cold water and I was seeing my actions again through new eyes. How selfish was I, to withhold something so important from my friends? Simply because I...

I shut my eyes and forced myself to think the words.

I _wanted_ to stay. The ultimate taboo. I wanted to stay here, in 1945. Here, I had everything I'd been searching for for the past three years: a home, friends...and perhaps something more than that. Whatever Dumbledore may have said, I knew deep down in my heart of hearts that I didn't belong here, in this wonderful, frightening world full of magic. And when we returned to 1997, I knew that the distinction would be all the more apparent. There would be no mission, no purpose to hide behind. Just a girl, in a world that did not belong to her.

Riddle was proof enough of that. I was only so arrogant as to believe that I could change him, that my presence would somehow negate all his past and future wrongs. I was only so foolish to think, 'yes, but he's _really_ a good person underneath it all, _believe_ me...'

But he was not mine. I could not change who he was at my whim and fancy. I could not change who he was going to become.

I couldn't change Fate.

"Ari?" Harry said and I resurfaced.

"You know, I'm not really feeling well. I think I'll drop in around the Hospital Wing for a bit." I gathered my things into my bag and left.

As I rounded the corner though, I changed direction so that I wasn't heading to the Wing at all, but the Transfiguration office.

I was going to see Dumbledore.

I had to tell him everything- Riddle's Horcruxes, my corpus defessum, the Twin Lockets. I would take whatever punishment awaited me-even though just the thought of it made my palms sweat and my heartbeat accelerate- because I deserved it. I couldn't let anyone else get hurt because of me. I wasn't being a martyr; I was only doing what I should have done long ago.

Dumbledore's office was only two more corridors away but I stopped abruptly in my tracks. I became very still; all the hairs on my body rose and the Locket around my neck warmed faintly.

"What are you doing, Tom?" I said without turning around. I knew without looking that he was at the end of the corridor behind me and the Locket grew hotter the closer he moved.

"I could ask you the same," he replied softly. My fingers inched towards the Locket. "Did you need to see Professor Dumbledore?"

"Of course."

"What about?" His tone was polite, disinterested even. But even though he wasn't mine, I knew him and I could her the strains of tension and anger in his voice.

My hand crept up higher. "Oh, this and that. Homework."

"I could help you with that," he said quietly. He was moving closer.

"I'd rather you not."

"Why is that?"

I stayed silent.

"Don't you trust me?" He murmured. My fingers found the Locket; I turned it-

Time stopped.

I whirled around in time to conjure a silvery white shield; the red curse Riddle had fired at the same time collided heavily with it with a noise like a gong. With a wave of my wand, my shield disappeared and I shot a volley of purple hexes at him

He vanished them with a sweeping movement and then another spell was flying at me like a bullet; I held up my bag to block it; it split and its contents tumbled to the ground. I pointed my wand at it and immediately a mass of books, quills and ink bottles rose in the air; I directed them at Riddle and then turned tail and ran for Dumbledore's office as Riddle's howls as he was attacked by my school things rang through the air.

Heart pounding, I sprinted down another corridor. I managed to get a fair distance away when the First Locket glowed a warning at my throat and I twisted around to block another curse from a dishevelled looking Riddle while I was still running.

I heard him shout something behind me and suddenly the armored knights that decorated the sides of Hogwarts' halls leapt down. I skidded to a stop, eyes wide and mouth open as they formed two straight lines in the middle of the corridor and began to march towards me, their spears and battleaxes held threateningly out the side so that the way around them was blocked.

I threw a desperate glance behind me; Riddle was approaching, his mouth curving into a smirk, and I swore. I looked back at the line of knights and began to run straight for them. I aimed my wand at the floor.

"_Glacius!_" I shouted and the carpet running between the knights turned to ice; I hit the ground and screamed as the momentum of my run carried me so that I slid on the ice through the barrier of knights. I tumbled to a stop and scrambled to my feet; I started running again and Riddle bellowed a curse.

Something caught around my ankles and I fell; I looked down and saw ropes like live vines twisting their way around my legs and I slashed at them frantically with my wand. They broke into pieces that thrashed on the ground like snakes and they crawled towards me.

"_Incendio!_" I yelled and they burst into flame.

Panting, I glanced longingly at the last corridor I had to run to get to Dumbledore's office but when I looked back I knew it was too late; Riddle had reduced his barrier to dust and was striding towards me, a mad red glint in his eyes.

And suddenly I was furious- at him, at myself. How dare he, to try and stop me. How dare I, to let him.

I pushed myself upright, gripping my wand until my nails cut into my palms, and faced him dead on: him at one end of the corridor and myself at the other. We stared at each other, red against brown, for a long time, the both of us as still as statues.

Then he raised his wand; I mirrored the movement, and we began to duel for real.

Light crackled across the walls as spells were deflected and fired; our wands flashed and blurred like swords. He was the better spellcaster, of course, and once he could have beaten me easily. But I'd spent every day and every night with him since _once_ and I was all too familiar with his style and a lot harder to kill because of it.

I ducked under his jinx and ignored its explosion in a cloud of smoke that obscured my vision; I aimed dead center of the grey fog and fired a curse of my own. Immediately the fog vanished and Riddle was staring at me; his eyes wide with shock as he touched the long, deep cut at the side of his neck that was now bleeding profusely onto his clothes.

"I missed," I called out, trying to hide the breathlessness of my voice. His eyes darkened in response and his face became thunderous behind his mask of eerie calm. I raised my wand and we were fighting again, amidst the wreckage of debris and dust at our feet.

I was beginning to feel triumphant; slowly but surely we were edging backwards along the final corridor before Dumbledore's office. If I could just get us closer, I could restart Time and-

I deflected three silver curses from Riddle, all fired one after the other; I raised my wand just as Riddle brought his down-

A bolt of violent purple light sliced through my body and we both froze. His eyes were wide, the skin around them a taut white and my expression mirrored his shock.

_Drip. Drip._

I looked down at my arms. Fresh cuts and scratches were opening all over my forearms; I gave a gasp of pain as the healed wound on my shoulder from the Albanian forest reopened.

My wand fell from my hand that was slippery with my own blood and I opened it to see that the twin scars that ran along my palm were a gaping, raw red; the Locket flared hot...

"Ariadne?"

I collapsed to the ground, breathing deep gash Riddle had once inflicted on the whole left side of my face and that been healed by Madame Laroche so long ago reopened and I began to cough as something hot and violent clawed its way up my throat.

Then blood, black and thick splattered onto the floor.

There were footsteps then, but they were muffled by the roar of my faltering heart in my ears, as did the shouts of the boy beside me…

My vision trembled around the edges; it vanished altogether.

And then I was gone, gone, gone.

888

It was so quiet.

Not a whisper of wind, not a sigh of a breath. Not the ticking of passing Time.

It was so quiet.

I opened my eyes. It took them some moments to adjust. Where was I? I thought I recognized the ceiling, but it was hard to tell, it was so dark...

My throat was so dry; it felt like it was burning. My whole body ached, but not in the way that I expected- not the surface ache of physical exertion, but deeper somehow- a ringing, weary ache that came from deep in my bones. I felt heavy, like I was sinking into the bed I was lying on.

What happened to me? A dull panic made itself known at the back of my mind. There had been so much blood, I remembered...

I tried to sit up but I felt weak; my arms collapsed as they failed to support my weight and I fell back on my pillow, abruptly tired.

"You're awake."

The hoarse, scratchy voice startled me. My eyes had some trouble making out the shape sitting in the chair beside my bed-I was in the Hospital Wing, I realized suddenly- and the person pulled his chair closer so that I could see him.

It was Riddle-but Riddle as I had never seen him before. His face was pale and gaunt and there were deep purple shadows under his bloodshot eyes. His hair was sticking up in all directions and dark stubble was budding around his jaw. He looked terrible-if I hadn't known better, I would have thought him to be a corpus defessum victim too.

My eyes travelled down to the collar of his shirt, which was splattered gruesomely with blood from the still unhealed wound at his neck.

"I didn't think you were going to wake up," he said, when I said nothing. "You've been asleep for almost a week."

I looked around and he read my expression.

"I brought you to the Hospital Wing," he explained and he cleared his throat. It sounded like he hadn't spoken in a while. "I had to use your Locket to stop Time again. The spell broke when you..."

I didn't say anything. The silence dragged on between us and then Riddle did something very uncharacteristic; he buried his face in his hands.

"I thought I was going to kill you," he whispered. "I so nearly did."

I stared, uncomprehending of his reaction but he continued on, apparently speaking more to himself than me.

"Why didn't I? Why shouldn't I kill you right now, with my bare hands?" He removed his hands and contemplated me coldly. "It would be very easy."

I only stared back at him.

"I thought this would be different," he muttered after a while. "I didn't expect you would go to Dumbledore...how could I? When you..."

His gaze was dark and perfectly unreadable.

"I should have killed you then and there. But..." He stared at his hands, "you're alive, aren't you?"

He looked up at me and I flinched. His cold facade had been stripped completely and what I saw behind it frightened me: his eyes were wild and his expression was torn between fury and something like desperation.

"What does that mean, then? _I could have left you!_" He shouted suddenly and I recoiled. He looked like a madman, driven completely past the edge and all the more dangerous because of it. He stood up, the movement sending his chair crashing down to the floor and began to pace rapidly, like an animal in a cage. "I could have left you to bleed to your _death_ on that floor-and if you died? So much the worse for you, so much the better for me," he said bitterly.

"Yet here you sit in front of me." He smiled without humor. "Heart beating, breathing. _Alive,_" he spat.

His chest was rising and falling rapidly; he turned away and he gripped his hair as though to rip it out; the tendons standing out hard against his skin. Then, in a movement so quick it took my breath away, he was kneeling by my bed, gripping my wrists with a crushing force.

"Tell me why I shouldn't do it," he said, and his grey eyes were desperate again as I looked down at him. "Tell me why I _cannot_ do it."

I remained silent.

"_Answer me!_" He screamed and it echoed off the walls: _answer me, answer me, answer me..._

But only silence replied and I thought for one awful moment that I saw the last shred of sanity leave his eyes- but he merely closed them and staggered back to his upturned chair. He set it upright and slumped into it, his breathing ragged as though we had duelled again.

I was afraid of him. I truly was. But not for the reasons that one might think-not because he had nearly killed me, not because some part of him still wanted to...

I was afraid of him because he _hadn't_. And there were many implications that followed that negative, and some were far worse than death because I realized what it meant even though he hadn't...because he _couldn't_...because it was impossible, for _him_...

"Get me out of here." My voice was rougher than his; it cracked in the room's silence.

Riddle looked up; his exhausted eyes snapped to my own. Then, very quietly: "Where?"

"Anywhere."

He stood up-I could hear his joints protest at the motion- and without preamble, scooped me from the bed so that he carried me in his arms, my legs dangling uselessly from one side of his cage.

I returned the gaze he gave me and nodded. The Locket was burning around my neck and I could feel the heat from his through his shirt. Somehow I knew without asking that the combined magic of the Founders' lockets would let us Disapparate from the school that they helped build with their own hands but I didn't have time to think much on it because Riddle turned on the spot-

And then the smell of salt surrounded us and there was the sound of distant crashing in the background. The wind whipped my hair back from my face and I tasted the briny scent of sea.

"Where are we?" I whispered. He set me down carefully on a black boulder and I winced because it felt like all the bones in my body jolted with the movement. It took me a minute to get my breath back and while I did, Tom wrapped his cloak around me and then straightened up, looking in the direction of the wind.

We were standing on a high outcrop of dark rock. It was night and the waves that churned below were the same impenetrable black as the sky above. Behind us, a towering cliff stood, flat and as solid as a wall.

"I used to come here when I was younger," he murmured and his eyes were as dark as the sea. "There was a village that they used to take us to..." He trailed off. "I don't know why I thought of it."

"All the good memories?" I rasped. He only looked at me and I closed my eyes, fighting for breath again.

"No," he said slowly. "Nothing good." He sounded bitter.

"It's your fault."

He whipped around and he looked angry. "_My_ fault?"

I nodded because it drained me just to say those few words and Tom gave a mocking laugh.

"Of course. Would you care to tell me why?"

"You hurt people," I said and the smile disappeared from his face. "People don't like being hurt."

"Why should that matter?" He replied cruelly.

My throat blazed and coughs that wracked my whole body ripped out of me. My head was spinning and I rested my clammy forehead on my knees. Everything hurt. I wanted to shield myself from the sting of the salt spraying up from the waves but I was too exhausted to move my arms.

Suddenly Tom was at my side and he pulled his cloak tighter around me.

"I shouldn't have brought you here," he muttered. His fingers caught the loose strands of my hair and he pulled them away from my face with a gentleness that was disconcerting. I raised my head to his and he stopped, as if realizing what he was doing. His grey eyes grew tight and he disappeared from my side so that the wind whipped my face again. He stood at the very edge of the outcrop, his posture rigid and his hands behind his back.

I watched him and the fear welled up again. Hermione's words echoed in my mind and it was only now that I was beginning to appreciate the full truth of them: _it's dangerous..._

And it was, because we were both balanced perilously on the edge of something that was desperately unfamiliar to both of us, an abyss that was as dark and wild and frightening as the ocean that churned perilously beneath Riddle's feet. I wanted to run away, run far, far away but at the same time I didn't want to leave him, this awful person who could not seem to bring himself to kill me.

Then in a wave of comprehension so fierce I felt it burn as it washed over my body, I understood finally, finally, that this was _it_: this was the decision I had to make. The decision that mattered most in the end.

To fall, or to run?

What was worse: to lose love or life?

"Come back," I said abruptly. His head turned fractionally towards me. "Tom."

He remained frozen. Then slowly, he turned so that the rest of his body was facing me and then he was at my side. I could feel his gaze burning into my face but I couldn't meet his eyes.

I had to do it. I had to make the decision.

"Ari?" Tom murmured.

And so I did.

I couldn't speak; fatigue seemed to have rendered me mute. So it was in silence that I drew as close to him then as I had ever dared and slipped my hand in his. His fingers wrapped unconsciously around mine and I was grateful beyond belief of their bruising grip as I, at last, sealed my Fate.

**A/N: These stupid kids. I don't even know at this point which one could be considered crazier.**

**But I did enjoy writing this sort of internal conflict- Riddle's desire for control and battle against the loss of it, and Ari's struggle between right and wrong. And erhmagawd, relationship development, hnnnnghhh-**

**Hope you enjoyed, as usual. It'd be much appreciated if you leave a review- I'm trying to see if I can hit the 200 milestone in the last three chapters I have left of this story, haha- but regardless, I still wholeheartedly thank you for sticking around to read these words.**

**Until next time!**


	24. The One That Leaves

**Disclaimer:** Absolutely not.

**A/N:** Argh, sorry if the writing in this chapter is a bit off, I don't know what happened. I'm so irritated with myself. I lost steam like halfway through and had to slug my way through the rest of it, hurr, so at times it'll be choppy as hell. Gross.

On an unrelated note, I'll be starting college this February! I got into my first preference (after several vivid nightmares about otherwise) and will be well onto the worn and tear-soaked path to medicine, much to the satisfaction of my Asian parents. Maaaaaan.

**Oh, and this a brief but important reminder for those that have forgotten regarding certain plot elements that are coming back into play here but seem to have been lost amidst all the UST: **

- Everyone follows a Time and Fate Strand/ Thread

- Ariadne's Time Strand is cut short

- The group have to reunite the First Locket with the Second by the 16th June, 1998- if not, all the people that the Second has been used upon will die

- Time in 1944 runs parallel to time in 1997. For example, if it is the 1st September 1944, it is also the 1st September 1997.

That's all from me now, enjoy!

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 23: The One That Leaves**

_His fingers wrapped unconsciously around mine and I was grateful beyond belief of their bruising grip as I , at last, sealed my Fate._

"...no, no, _no_, that's not the _point_, Ron-"

"Why not?" I heard Ron's voice, loud and argumentative. "Then we could just snatch it off his scrawny neck-"

"Shh!" Hermione hissed and I stepped into their alcove between the bookcases of the Library. The figures around the table froze and their faces turned up to mine.

I whistled, shoving my hands in my pockets. "Some study session we're having."

No one laughed and I pulled up a chair, looking around at them. Ron was leaning over the table, having been caught mid argument. Hermione was in front of him and her hair looked wild as if she had been running her hands through it in frustration. Draco was in the darkest corner, his arms crossed over his chest and Harry was at the head of the table.

"_Muffliato_," Harry said, pointing his wand at the entrance of the alcove. "Where've you been?"

I raised my eyebrows at his rough tone. "Professor Reed wanted to talk to me about my essay after class."

The three exchanged dark looks and I said, "What?"

"Nothing," Hermione said at once and shot Harry, who had opened his mouth, a meaningful look. I didn't pursue the subject further and she continued, "We were just discussing the advantages and _disadvantages_-" here she directed the look at Ron, "-of knocking Riddle out with a club in the corridors to get the First Locket."

He shrugged.

I laughed but stopped when I noticed Harry's glare that was still focused on me.

"What?" I said exasperatedly.

"You weren't with Riddle?" Harry asked me sharply.

I levelled him with a stare. "Excuse me?"

"Harry," Hermione began and Ron shushed her.

"You got something to say, then say it," I said.

"I reckon you're doing something with Riddle behind our backs," he said flatly and Hermione gasped.

"_Harry_-"

"Is that what you think?" I said.

"Yeah," he answered, "that's about it."

"Then that's your problem," I said coldly. He narrowed his eyes and I returned the gesture.

I had been expecting something like this from Harry for some time, but that didn't make it any less awful. I _knew_ I hadn't performed the Memory Charm on him properly; it had only been my first attempt at it after all. Evidently something in the confession I had given him had stuck, for I had been on the receiving end of odd glances and suspicious looks for the past week. It was only a matter of time before he made an outright accusation.

Ron looked doubtful but Hermione seemed to be leaning on his side- after all, I had already known that she had suspected something between me and Riddle...

"Harry, mate," Ron said amazed. "You can't be serious."

"He's my Potions partner," I said. "Of course I've been working with him outside of school hours."

I held his gaze until he broke it, looking deliberately away from my face.

"I want the Map back," he said and my mouth went dry. I stood up and he mirrored the movement with interest: he drew his wand.

Ron made a muffled sound of protest and Hermione's wide eyes travelled between us as if she were watching an invisible ping pong match.

Slowly, I pulled the Map from my robes, never breaking my stare. I held it out towards the center of the table and he stretched out a hand to take it.

Before he could however, another hand snatched it from my grip and we looked up in astonishment.

"This is ridiculous!" Draco exploded, rolling up the Map and stuffing it into his own robes.

"Give it here, Malfoy!" Harry shouted and he ignored him, looking around accusingly at the others.

"You hypocrites," he said. "I thought Gryffindors really bought into that 'loyalty' rubbish or god knows what, but you can't even trust your own friends? Are you serious?"

Ron and Hermione both looked uncomfortable and even Harry looked slightly abashed.

"C'mon," Draco muttered to me and throwing the others one last contemptuous look, grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out of the Library.

"You didn't have to do that," I muttered and he let go. He loosed a sigh and glanced back at me.

"That got Saint Potter off his high horse, didn't it?" He looked pleased with himself. Guilt crashed down on me.

"Draco..."

"-idiots, just because they've only realized just now how close the 16th of June is-"

"_Draco_-"

"It's the truth, Ari," he said, cutting me off. "Don't bother lecturing me."

I stared at his back as he walked ahead of me and suddenly I felt a fierce rush of affection for this boy who was more my family than I could ever hope for.

I hooked an arm around his neck and he made an irritated noise but didn't throw it off and we walked together like this for a while.

"I don't know how many times I've said this," I told him, "but I can't say it enough-"

"Yeah, yeah, you love me," he said wearily but I caught the slight grin that pulled at the corners of his mouth.

I nudged him with my elbow. "Don't be so smug," I said but faltered when the guilt tugged at me again, the exact size and weight as the Locket around my neck.

888

I was wandering around the Black Lake. I was by myself and the school day had come to a close. I gazed out at the calm, grey waters- how had I never realized how beautiful this place was before?

I stooped down and picked one of the flowers that grew around the banks and played with it absentmindedly as my feet turned towards the path that led to the Dark Forest. I stopped by the edge and breathed in the scent of damp leaves and rotting wood. I touched the trunks of each of the trees as I passed them and stared up at the darkening sky that shone through the gaps between the tops of the trees. An owl hooted somewhere and I remembered distantly when I used to be afraid of this place.

I lit my wand and left the Forest, taking the worn stone path back up to the castle. It was warm inside and students were milling about, playing Gobstones on the stairs or hurriedly scrawling conclusions to hastily-written essays along the archways. The atmosphere was more solemn now than when I had first set foot here because of all the grief that these familiar walls had seen since then...

But even though it was more subdued, even though so many things had changed since then-including myself-it still felt like home. Charlus Potter caught my eye as he strode past and winked; I grinned ruefully back at him.

I walked aimlessly around the busy corridors; I eyed the suits of armor that decorated the halls with distaste; I marvelled again at the floating candles that rose above the House tables in the Great Hall and the enchanted ceiling that mirrored the sky outside. I recalled how it had been bewitched once to let warm and perfectly dry snowflakes fall during the Christmas Ball...

I wandered down the aisle to the platform where Dumbledore had given his welcoming speech my first night. I remembered the feeling of anxiety when the Sorting Hat had slipped over my eyes...the happiness and relief at being sorted into Gryffindor and the shock when Draco had been too...

I left the Great Hall and walked along the corridors again. I greeted and nodded to more of my classmates and even at Nora Fawley, who had made a speedy recovery and was now back at school. Her shorn hair bounced as she smiled at me and I was relieved to see that the scarring on her face had faded into a silvery sheen. My heart felt lighter as I walked past her with a 'hello'; I was smiling to myself as I turned the next corner-

And then suddenly I was all alone.

I whirled around. The students were gone; the low murmur of voices that had filled the halls had disappeared. And in their place were hundreds upon hundreds of vivid vermilion threads.

My breathing became short and ragged. This was no hallucination this time; I could _feel_ the Threads wrapping around me, tightening and constricting around me like a cocoon...my arms were bound to my sides and my ribs felt like they were being crushed by the force behind the threads' relentless grip...I couldn't move...I couldn't _breathe_...

A weight fell on my shoulders and I drew in a sharp gasp. Just like that, the red fell away from everything and the sounds of students' voices returned: the hall was filled with people once more.

I shut my eyes tight.

"What is it?" Tom murmured in my ear, his hands still on my shoulders. I didn't say anything but I opened my eyes.

Yes. Still here. Still in the present. Oh, God.

I turned around to face him and threaded my fingers through his own; his face registered his surprise. I tugged him mutely away from the other students that were now beginning to stare and he followed me.

I wasn't sure where I was going- I just wanted to get as far away from the corridor as I could- and he must have realized this, because we switched so that it was him who was leading me now, his hand still anchoring mine to his. He didn't say anything about where he was taking me but every so often, he glanced back, as if to make sure that I was still _there_.

We stopped in front of a familiar bare stretch of wall next to a tapestry of dancing trolls and my lips curved upward. We stood in front of the wall, watching the door form there and Tom pulled the handle.

I let go of his hand as we entered. The room's setup had changed: there were only two long sofas that faced each other in front of a fireplace, with a rectangular wooden coffee table between them. Two enormous, many paned glass windows decorated the far wall so that if I looked out, I could see all of the Hogwarts grounds and nighttime sky.

I sat down on one of the couches, drawing up my knees and folding into myself as I stared into the fire. Tom took the seat across from me and watched me intently. I would have said something, but there was nothing to say. It was overwhelmingly quiet, save for a single sound.

I wondered if he heard it too. The ticking of Time.

_Time._

Time equals distance divided by speed. A watchmaker would have explained the mechanics of the devices that record it- how the gears are made to move in perfect synchronization with each other, what materials give more accurate vibrations in order for the mechanism to work.

Time is something that is constantly measured and that we always seem to never have enough of of.

Time is something that governs our whole lives; each tick of each passing second is another moment of life stolen.

Time is irreplaceable.

Time is unceasing.

And time is relentless.

My hands were shaking and I clasped them together. _Breathe._

In. Out.

"Would you like to play?"

I looked up at the sound of Riddle's voice; he had taken the deck of cards out from my bag that I had left on the table and was offering them out to me.

"I'm...not really feeling up to it."

"Come on, Ariadne," he said cajolingly. "We could play Go Fish. Or Cheat, or Old Maid..."

"...or strip poker?" I finished, smiling despite myself. He smirked.

"If you like," he said quietly. And then, whether by chance or deliberate choice, he loosened his tie around his neck.

I colored all the way to the roots of my hair. "Go Fish it is, then."

Tom actually laughed out loud and handed me the pack; I began to shuffle the cards. I dealt seven to both of us and left the remaining cards facedown in a stack to the side.

"I've never played this game before," Riddle said, picking up his pile.

"No," I said, staring at him. "What's wrong with you? What did you do for fun?"

"Opened the Chamber of Secrets," he said offhandedly. He caught me gaping at him and he added, "That was a joke."

"You and I need to work on that," I muttered darkly and his mouth curled upward. I put down my cards. "Okay. So, these are the rules..."

We began playing not long after and the familiarity and triviality of game was like a comfort to me; thoughts of Time were soon pushed far away from my mind. I was grinning widely because it seemed I finally found something that I was better than Riddle at, although he assured me that it was only a matter of luck and not skill.

Halfway through the game, I absently removed the First Locket from my neck and set it down on the table; it was only when I looked up from my cards that I noticed him staring at it.

"Doesn't it ever annoy you?" I asked.

"Does what annoy me?" He said absently.

"The way it _burns_ like that?" I rubbed the red marks around my throat gingerly. "It's been like this for days now."

His hand trailed to his own neck, tracing the chain there thoughtfully. "No, not for me."

He caught my surprised look and removed his Locket, offering it to me. "See for yourself."

I touched it and flinched; it was almost brutally cold. Tom put it back on and I looked down speechlessly. The weight was back on my mind, like a black cloud and even though I stared at the cards in my hands, it was if I wasn't seeing them at all...

Time.

_Time._

"Tell me," Tom said finally, after my next few turns passed in silence.

"Go Fish," I said. He narrowed his eyes and three of my cards flew out of my hand to join his lone card sitting in his palm.

"Liar," he said calmly. He set down his cards and so did I, although reluctantly. "Tell me what you're thinking."

I looked at him. He had recovered since the days he had spent in the Hospital Wing with me: his grey eyes were sharp and the circles had faded from beneath them. There was a long, white scar on the side of his neck from the cut I had given him...it disturbed me to see it there. I looked back down.

"I was thinking about Time," I said quietly. "I was wondering if it was possible for someone to have less of it than others."

"That goes without saying, Ariadne. People die all the time."

"No, not like that. I mean..." I stalled, choosing my words carefully, "...if someone was supposed to have more, but I dunno, the rest got cut off somehow..."

He leaned towards me, interlocking his fingers together. "And how would that occur?

"I don't know!" I burst out in a pulse of sudden anger. I put my head in my hands and tried to calm myself. My heartbeat thundered in my ears and I willed it to slow down...but if anything it only became more rushed and each beat signified each second that was slipping away from me...

"What you said about Time being 'cut off'..." Tom's voice, seemingly unaffected, broke into my thoughts, "...were you referring to Daedalus' theory again?"

"I have another question," I said bluntly. He frowned in mild irritation but I ploughed on, "I know by Daedalus's theory that Time and Fate run intertwined, in a straight line. But what if some event occurred that caused them to split?"

"Such as?" He said dryly.

"Time travel," I blurted recklessly and Tom's expression morphed into one of surprise, "A massive jump from future to past. Not like what we do with Ravenclaw's Locket- I mean _decades_. Fate and Time would split, yes? Because Time is linear and Fate isn't."

I paused but he didn't say anything; he seemed to be listening intently. "So then by that logic, there are only two Strands the time traveller can follow: Fate or Time."

"That can't happen," Riddle said firmly.

"Why not?"

"Because Fate cannot exist without Time," he explained. "What is Fate but the inevitable outcome of your life over an extended period of Time? There's a reason they run intertwined, Ariadne. In fact..." He frowned and then seemed to stop himself. "Never mind."

"What is it?"

"There's a story," he said, shaking his head. "An old myth."

"Tell me," I said and when he looked reluctant, I added, "Please."

Tom threw me an impenetrable glance, but obliged. "There was an...idea of Time and Fate being opposing forces. And that each sought to usurp the other in their fight for dominance. There was- Chronos, the Keeper of Time. And the three Fates."

Upon seeing my wide eyes, his mouth twisted ruefully and he continued, "The story went that the two coexisted peacefully once, millenia before mortals and even gods were created. As equals.

"Then one day, the Keeper did something that was unforgivable: for some reason or other, he altered Time. It was only for a single hour, but the consequences were disastrous. The girl to whom the altered Strand belonged to overslept, and she did not wake to see her lover abandon her forever on the island he had brought her to.

"The Fates were furious, for this was not what they had written would happen. But the damage was irreparable and the girl died soon after. Angered and embittered by the Keeper's betrayal, they attempted to separate themselves from his hold. However they soon found that this was not possible- as I have said before. But immortality never forgets and never fades and neither has their fury.

"And so legend goes that to this day, the Fates wait, picking and unpicking their Threads, until the hour when Time runs out and they can at last prove their authority and command over all."

His final words seemed to ring in the air long after he had spoken them. The fire that had crackled so cheerily in the room did not seem as warm as it had once been.

"Fate can exist...when Time runs out?" I whispered.

"It's just a story, Ariadne," he said impatiently. His jaw was tight and his eyes were tense as he watched me.

I ran my fingers through my hair as I went over his story again in my mind. I thought I might've heard it before...but perhaps when I was very young...

Either way, did it matter?

"You know where I was this morning?" I said abruptly and his crease between his brows grew deeper at the sudden change in subject, "I was in Hogsmeade, the day that Grindelwald attacked."

This distracted him; his eyes grew dark. I fought the memory that flickered into my mind; the fear at having what was familiar disappear and be replaced by panic, terror…of a memory that was not a memory, a nightmare that was real. "Your corpus...?"

"It doesn't matter," I said and a thrill of urgency ran up my spine. "Look, I found myself in the crowd. I was duelling one of the soldiers, and then I turned...and I saw you. You were fighting them."

Tom's expression became unreadable.

"That's why I met you in the forest that day, isn't it? You came back," I waited for him to say something but he remained stubbornly silent. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He said nothing.

"I don't have much Time," I said quietly and his dark eyes snapped to mine.

"Do you believe I'll let you die, Ariadne?"

"I..."

He got up and sat down beside me; I edged away but he caught the ends of my hair and tangled his hand into it so that I was pulled closer to him. I was forced to look back into his eyes which were a darker grey than I had ever seen them.

"Do you think I'll let you leave me?" He said quietly.

"It's not you, it's me," I whispered and his eyes darkened further. He let go of my hair but somehow my hand twisted itself around his collar, tugging him closer. My other hand hooked on the back of his robes while his own slid down to my waist; I made an surprised sound from the back of my throat and his eyes narrowed into slits. I could feel the heat from his skin mingling with my own and I noticed that his irises were solid black as he pulled my face closer to his...

_Time._

"Tom," I said and he stopped, his lips only a breath away from mine. "Stop."

"Why should I?" He demanded. His voice was like gravel.

_Time._

"I can't think." He exhaled a sharp sigh of annoyance and I untangled myself from him. I dragged my hands down my face, forcing my head to clear. There were so many things he needed to know, but I had no _Time_-

"I know that you don't have much belief in people," I said finally and he gave me an unreadable look."I know that you think that you're too corrupted, too damaged to be anything than you already are. But there is always, _always_ some good in everyone, Tom, please don't forget that-"

BANG!

We both jumped; the First Locket slid off the table but I didn't notice; the both of us were looking in the direction of the Room's entrance.

"What the...?" Riddle muttered, drawing out his wand. He made to stand up but I stopped him, suddenly afraid.

"Wait," I whispered. I dug through my bag, pulling out an assortment of items: a hairbrush, one of Draco's shoes, a small pillow that we were supposed to be Transfiguring into kittens for homework. But the one I was looking for was conspicuously absent and I realized with horror that it was because did not have it- because _I had forgotten to take it from Draco._

I didn't have the Map.

_I didn't have the Map._

But Draco did.

"Wait!" I said desperately but he was already at the door. I jumped over the couch and pushed past him as he opened it and my worst fears were confirmed as I saw Draco sprawled out on the floor, his white blond hair falling into his face. My gaze flickered to the scrap of worn parchment on the floor next to him. It looked like he had tried to get into the Room by force but had been thrown back from its entrance, which explained the noise.

His pale eyes connected with mine and I stared back, petrified. I had a sudden vision of a vast, crumbling tower of cards and in that moment, the whole world narrowed down to a single point: my brother and I.

He got up slowly to his feet. "I can't believe you."

"Draco," I tried.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU!" He shouted and I flinched. He turned and began to stride away.

"It's not what you think! Draco-" A terrible panic spiralled into my gut and I ran after him and caught hold of his robes but he jerked away from me as though I were a leper. He turned to face me and betrayal was etched into every line of his face.

"What the hell d'you think you're doing?" He yelled. He was breathing hard. "Have you completely lost your _mind_? Have you forgotten why we're here?"

"No, of course not-

"He's the enemy, Ari!" He bellowed. "He's the reason everything in our time is so screwed up and YOU'RE SLEEPING WITH HIM!"

I was actually stunned into silence; my face flooded with heat and it took me a moment before I could respond. "I-what? What? Brother, that's-"

"_Don't call me that!_" Draco shouted. "You lied to me! You told me that you didn't go after him-"

"I'm _sorry_-"

"-I even defended you to Potter and his pals, my _God_, how stupid am I..."

"I didn't mean for it to be like this!" I yelled. My voice rang in the corridor and we both stared at each other, panting.

"Did you kill Alphard?" He said harshly.

"What-no-that wasn't me, that was..." My mouth trembled.

"Then you as good as," he replied brutally and I recoiled as though he had struck me. He turned away again and the line of his body was stiff. "Whatever, Ari. Let us know when you get your Dark Mark..."

"And you'd know all about it, wouldn't you Draco?" I said, suddenly furious. He whirled around; shock flickered in his eyes and his hand jumped to his left arm, the one he always kept covered. I had never mentioned it to him before. "Who are you to judge me? You think that by coming here and killing him everything will be alright? Your daddy will be out of prison and you'll be home with your dear mummy again?" His face contorted but I couldn't seem to stop the flow of bitter words coming from my mouth. "_It's too late for that, don't you understand? _You made your choice!"

A silence fell between us; Draco turned away. "Right," he said bitterly. "Fine. I hope you're happy with your choice then, Ari...you two deserve each other."

He left me there to stare angrily at his back. It was only when he was out of my sight that the resentment drained away and revulsion and horror flooded in.

"_Draco!_" I ran after him but soon gave up, realizing it was useless.

_What have I done?_

I pressed a hand to my mouth, wishing that I could seal it shut. The hairs at the back of my neck stiffened and, inhaling sharply in shock and fear, I whirled around.

He was leaning against one of the pillars, twirling his wand in between his long fingers. His eyes locked with mine.

"So." was all he said.

I held very, very still. I barely breathed.

"Time travel," he murmured to himself and the way he said it made it seem almost like a sigh. "Of course."

Something cold trickled down my spine but I couldn't speak; instead I shook my head frantically.

"I have to admit, I'm having a hard time believing it myself," Riddle said politely as though I had made a serious argument against him. "Unfortunately, I cannot deny that the idea does put certain things in perspective."

In a dangerously soft voice, he said, "Will you be the one to kill me then, Ariadne?"

I took a step towards him and then his wand was pointed at my throat. I froze on the spot.

I flicked my gaze from his wand to his eyes. I saw the incomparable anger there, the insurmountable hatred...and yet, of all things, a threat of indecision. He said he couldn't kill me. He couldn't bring himself to kill me.

But if he did...

_I would deserve it._

He flinched as he read the thought in my mind, as clearly as if I had spoken it aloud; his wand lowered by a fraction. His eyes bored into mine.

Then he was turning around, his cloak whipping sharply at his heels.

Dark spots of color burst around the edges of my vision; I forced myself to take a breath and I blurted out his name. The jet of green light that flew at me as he whirled around missed me by inches; it singed my hair in its onslaught. His red eyes met my wide ones and there was a betrayal there, a nameless hurt that I wished I had never seen.

And then he was gone.

I've heard people talk about 'heartbreak' before. I just didn't think it would be so literal. But the pain was there, a raw, pulsing ache in the center of my chest.

I had to follow him. I couldn't just leave it like this, I couldn't leave _him_-

The pain in my chest worsened, burned like fire. I began to cough; I doubled over as I struggled to breathe. A ribbon of air twisted its way into my lungs and I choked on it. My heart pulsed in my ears and red threaded into my vision...

I fell to all fours, gasping. It was like there was an invisible hand twisting and tugging at the tail of my spine, making me arch my back in agony. My hands were shaking uncontrollably and rivulets of black liquid dribbled from my nose and mouth, eyes and ears...my Time had run out, this was it-

And then the pain was gone.

Everything was silent. I could only hear the sounds of my breath, ragged and rough, and the sound of my heart. I uncurled from my position on the floor and stood up shakily. I wiped my mouth and nose and looked around. I was in the same place, the same corridor...and yet...

"Good things come to an end."

I twisted around, my wand out but staggered backwards in shock when I saw them: three figures, dressed in drab robes of grey. All three were bald and featureless; twisted folds of ridged skin stretched over the areas where mouth, nose and ears would be. Instead of eyes, two gaping black holes stared instead, like the inside of a grave.

The first figure held what looked like a ball of red yarn in her hands; an uncoiled piece stretched between her and the hands of her sister, the second.

But it was the third figure that drew my eye, for in her hand gleamed a pair of large and wickedly sharp scissors.

_It wasn't a story after all_, I whispered. _You're the Three Fates, aren't you?_

They did not reply and I screamed, _Answer me! Why are you here? Why do I keep on seeing you when my corpus-_

"There is no such thing."

I stared at the third figure, the one who had spoken. _What?_

"Your corpus defessum does not exist."

My hand flew up to my mouth; I could still taste the bitter salt of my rotting blood. But, foolishly, I clutched at the straws they offered me.

_I'm not dying?_

"You are," the Third said emotionlessly. "Your body deteriorates as your Time shortens."

Said the Second, "You are nearly at the end of your Strand."

Then the First: "Time has a hold of you still."

"But not for long," replied the Third. "Perhaps an hour or so left."

"He did you a disservice, when he gave you that," the Second said, nodding at the hand still clenched tightly around my wand, "but we are eternally grateful."

The Third sister looked at me coldly and said, "We must close the circle."

And then all of them said in unison: "We'll take you back."

I moved away from them, darting my eyes between them warily. _Where are you taking me?_

"He's been waiting for a long time," the First murmured and my breath caught. She said something else but it sounded distorted to my ears and with sudden horror, I realized that the three figures were blurring as well and so were the walls of the corridor until they stretched into nothingness. Bright, pulsing auras surrounded me and as I tasted the copper in my mouth I was reminded, strangely, of when I had first disappeared in the deserted alley so long ago...

I tumbled into blackness.

When I came to, I was lying on a carpet that was thick with dust. I was on my back and above me was an old fashioned chandelier that emanated a soft, yellow glow over the darkened room. The furniture was antique and moth eaten, and a uniform grey color from the layer of grime and dirt that covered it. I sat up, my heart thudding as I became conscious of the fact that I had been in this room before- this was the very same room I had arrived in when I had first come to 1997. I was in Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

I rubbed my eyes. I couldn't be dreaming.

A creaking sounded from behind me and I froze, frightened with the unexpected knowledge that I wasn't alone.

Slowly, I swiveled on the spot.

There was someone there, sitting in one of the faded armchairs. His tall, skeletally thin figure shifted as a spider-like hand reached up to lower his hood-

"_Hello." I looked up at the man in the doorway. He was dressed oddly, especially for the warm season. "Who are you?"_

-and the face that emerged from it gleamed white in the darkness, flat and terrible as a snake's-

_A flash of silver, a burst of green light and then all was red-_

-and his staring, scarlet, slit-pupilled eyes-

_"No! Mum-dad, please, please don't be dead-"_

-locked with my terrified ones.

Then Lord Voldemort spoke in a high, cold voice that was almost a hiss.

"Hello, Ariadne."

**A/N: Let me just tell you that I have been planning the next chapter ever since I started writing this story and it is such a shock to me that I'm actually about write it.**

**Like OMG.**

**Review and I'll give the love right back atcha!**


	25. Pretending To Live

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter.

**A/N:** Hope y'all are ready for the big reveal(s). All (or most) of my tricks are in this monster of a chapter.

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 24: Pretending To Live**

_Then Lord Voldemort spoke in a high, cold voice that was almost a hiss._

_"Hello, Ariadne."_

The quiet tick of the grandfather clock upstairs continued. Even through the roaring silence, I could hear it. Time passed.

An owl hooted somewhere in the night. The floorboards outside the closed door of the room creaked as it bore the weight of the mouse that scuttled across its surface.

Time passed for the rest of the world.

Not for us.

For a long time we just looked at each other. We breathed without breathing. Drinking in without drinking. I gorged myself on the changes that had ravaged his face while he devoured the permanence of mine.

Apples, Christmas flowers, blood. Incoherent strings of words streamed into my mind as I stared into those red eyes. The cat-like pupils dilated and it seemed to cost him a great effort to look away and point at the faded armchair across from him. "Sit down."

His voice sent fingers of ice down my spine, as though I had just stood in front of a freezing gale. When I made no sign of moving-how could I, paralysed by fear as I was- he gave something like a sigh.

"I'd forgotten how stubborn you are," he said quietly. "But, I suppose that is quite understandable. After all..." Voldemort's eyes locked with mine again, "...this must come as a surprise for you."

He pointed his wand and the armchair zoomed to a stop directly beside me. I flinched.

"Sit down," he repeated. "I will answer all your questions...eventually."

I forced all the strength I had left into my legs, willing them to carry me as I took the offered seat warily. His red eyes followed my movements.

Another roaring silence descended. We were directly facing each other now, separated only by a few feet of grey carpet and a low, wooden table.

At last, he spoke. "It is 11:00 pm, the 15th of July, 1998. You are in the third room of the uppermost floor of what was formerly the residence of the Most Noble House of Black...although I hear that it is being put to different use, these days."

He smiled a terrible smile and I stared at him. Malice and contempt exuded from him like poison and I looked down at my hands, feeling disgusted and angry.

Everything I had ever feared about the Tom Riddle I had once known-his fury, his callousness...his dark and terrible desires-was made flesh and blood, the living nightmare that sat so calmly before me. I could no longer deny the boy Riddle this side of his nature when the man Voldemort existed so solidly _now_ that he could only be real.

All those people...so many people...

"Why am I here?" I said. My voice cracked on the last word.

"I do not know," he replied. He was still watching me, waiting, his body tensed with anticipation like a cat about to spring.

"Why are you here?" I said instead. Voldemort leaned back in his chair.

"Don't you remember?" He leered although his voice was little above a whisper. "It was you, after all, that told me this would happen...oh yes," he said, catching my expression.

"And what a shock it was for me to see you then, after all that time...I have waited for longer than I would care to say, for this..."

His gaze bored into mine. "Much longer," he repeated and his anger was almost palpable. In my chair, I tensed.

"But Time has not passed for you, has it?" He said, suddenly contemplative. "Only mere minutes, or perhaps hours..." The hungry look was back as his eyes roved over my face. "You haven't changed."

"Can't say the same," I whispered and his lipless mouth curled into a mirthless smile as he laughed a high, cold laugh that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The hood of his cloak shifted and I caught sight of the jagged white scar that ran just underneath his jaw.

He must have notice me staring at it for he stopped laughing and put the tip of an unnaturally long finger against it.

"An eye for an eye, yes Ariadne?" He said quietly.

Somehow I was reminded of what one of the Fates said to me-_"He did you a disservice, when he gave you that."_

I held up my right hand, palm facing out to him. His eyes flicked down to the twin scars and then back to my own.

"You gave this to me," I said and it wasn't a question. Voldemort's face was completely blank. Only the red eyes moved behind his mask-like countenance. "You...you..."

_"Hello." I looked up at the man in the doorway. He was dressed oddly, especially for the warm season. "Who are you?"_

_"An old friend," the man replied quietly. I couldn't see his face underneath the hood he wore._

_I eyed him suspiciously. "You're not selling anything, are you?"_

_He did not laugh. "No."_

_I shrugged and stepped aside. He entered, closing the door behind him._

_"Where are your parents?" He asked me._

_I yawned and switched off the TV. "Mum's in the kitchen, dad's in the study," I said lazily. "I'll go and get them."_

_He nodded and I glanced back at him over my shoulder; he remained standing, his hood still on._

_ Must be another one of their weirdo friends, I thought. _

_I called my parents out from their respective rooms; they seemed perplexed when I told them that someone had come to visit. _

_I padded back into the living room with their promise that they'd be out in five minutes; as I approached the stranger, a white, long fingered hand slipped out of his cloak and around my wrist._

_I struggled but he was inhumanly strong; I screamed but no sound came out of my mouth and I was so scared, so scared-_

_And when he drew out a short, grey knife in his other hand and wrapped my fingers around the blade, pain burst like lightning in my palm and the inside of my fingers as metal sliced into flesh and I had never been so afraid in my entire life-_

_A flash of silver-_

_"Aria?" My mother called and she entered the room; she screamed and my father ran out-_

_But the man pushed me behind him and screamed words I did not understand; there was a burst of green light and both my parents crumpled to the floor-_

_And although it made no sense, I understood-_

_"No! Mum- dad, please, please don't be dead-"_

_I tried to run to them but the man's grip locked me into place; he turned around and his hood fell down-_

_His eyes found mine and nothing else mattered because all was red and I screamed and screamed and screamed because I knew that this man was _**_not human_**_-_

I put my head in my hands, fighting the urge to vomit. My mind felt unclean, corrupted as I allowed the memory to slither through it like a snake; I bit down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood.

"Why?" I croaked.

When I looked up, Voldemort's expression remained impassive.

As I stared into the pitiless red eyes it occurred to me for the first time there was no distinction between Riddle and Voldemort because they were, and had always been the same person. The cruelty that I had been forced to endure at his hands had existed long before our paths had ever crossed-_'Voldemort is my past, present and future'_ he had once said, hadn't he...

Voldemort had not killed my parents. _Tom_ did.

"You knew how much I loved them," I said, my voice shaking. "How much it ruined me to lose them."

He remained silent, but something in his eyes flickered in the dim candlelight.

My mouth had difficulty twisting into a sneer because I was shaking so badly but I managed it. "I thought you couldn't hurt me," I said bitterly.

"No," Voldemort said, "I could not kill you."

"Lucky me, then!" I spat at him. "I'm probably the only person in the world that can claim such an _honor_, right?"

His eyes flickered again."Yes, you are," he said softly.

"Why? Why not just finish the job?"

"That was not my intention."

"_Then what?_" I shouted. I stood up, my hands curled into fists. I was shaking from head to toe in anger, past caring that the most powerful Dark wizard in the world sat before me, a mere girl, past fearing for my life, past _sense_. "Why did you leave me _alive_ when you should have just _murdered_ me like you did my parents you son of a-"

Ragged breaths were pouring in and out of me as I put every ounce of hatred into my eyes which, after all these years, were still locked tightly with his. He looked back calmly.

"Do you remember what I did after I gave you those scars?" He said softly.

_A flash of silver._ I stared at him, abruptly rendered mute.

"Come now," Voldemort moved restlessly in his chair; he looked almost impatient. His eyes narrowed and I felt a tugging at the back of my mind; a rush of pictures flooded in but I didn't fight the intrusion; I let him in because I needed to know, to _remember_...

"You had a knife," I said suddenly. "But...that wasn't all you were holding, was it?"

He watched me, unblinking as I sat back down in the armchair, rubbing my temples.

"Silver..." I murmured. "_Silver._ Small...and...burning..." I stopped. Horror washed over me and my mouth dropped open. "The Locket. Ravenclaw's Locket. You-"

_-pain burst like lightning in my palm and the inside of my fingers as metal sliced into flesh and I had never been so afraid in my entire life-_

_He let the knife drop then and pulled out something else, a flash of silver that dangled from a thin chain and he pressed the cold metal into my bleeding hand, wrapping his long fingers around the both of them. He was muttering something rapidly under his breath and in a strange tongue-_

_And then the object in my hand burned like _**_fire_**_._

"Yes," Voldemort said quietly. "I bound you to the First Locket, using your blood...and the sacrifice of your parents."

"Why?" I mouthed the word.

"The Locket's magic is entangled with that of Time, such is the power that Salazar Slytherin bestowed upon it. It does not merely manipulate Time. It controls it. And by binding it, anchoring such a relentless, unstoppable force to a specific person, a weak mortal, it was an act against nature that I committed. And the consequences were...extreme."

"What consequences?" I whispered.

Voldemort gave yet another terrible smile. "Do you not see it yet, Ariadne?" He said softly. "I severed your Strand of Time. And then, by ensuring you were orphaned, I tangled your Fate inescapably with my own."

"I don't..."

"Think!" Voldemort said and there was a bite of impatience in his voice. He shifted, restless again. "If your parents had not gone would you have moved to where you currently live with your foster family? Would you have gone to the school as you did then? When you heard the sound of your Fate being decided-" I gasped as I remembered the sound I had heard, of a pair of scissors closing but a hundred times louder, "- would you have left your bus on August the 23rd 2010 to follow it, and by doing so step into the abandoned street where in our world Grimmauld Place rests?"

My eyes were wide as I recalled the grey, lonely street I had ended up in...and disappeared from.

"That was all it took for your Time and Fate to wrench apart," Voldemort went on ruthlessly, "something that was only exacerbated when you travelled from 1997 to 1944. The simple act of existing, breathing in the very air of a place that a part of you-irrespective of whether or not you were conscious of it- recognized that you had been before."

"That's why I kept on seeing things," I whispered. "Always the same date, August the 23rd...the day you killed them...because there was a part of me, a part of my blood that still existed in the Locket. A part of me that remembered..." Shock rushed through me as something else fell into place: a piece in the jigsaw whose final picture had eluded me for so long. "And when I fell into your world, that's why I became magic- because it wasn't just me in the Locket's power- but the Locket's power in _me_."

My fingers traced the red marks around my neck unconsciously as I remembered the way the Locket had burned constantly against my skin compared to how cold the Second Locket had been when I'd touched it...how it had been agony for me when Riddle had tried to make it his first Horcrux, because it could not and would not be bound to another...

And then as if summoned, another string of memories rose to the surface- I was the one who had found Ravenclaw's wedding dress, I was the one who had been able to retrieve her diadem...

Some of her magic existed in me. It must have lain dormant for the three years leading up to my expulsion from my world, and triggered somehow when I woke up in 1997...the world that I was always supposed to return to, in the end.

"I did belong here," I whispered. I looked up, searching his face, blindly seeking reassurance like a child.

He barely inclined his head. "Yes."

I wanted to laugh; I wanted to cry. Because it was a double edged sword, wasn't it- my happiness at being allowed to exist in such a place only cemented the death sentence that came with it.

"The First Locket," I said suddenly, "do you have it?"

"No," Voldemort replied and his voice was like a sigh. "The magic I used to bind you to it was ancient and potent...it no longer belonged to me once I had completed the spell. Yet it could not exist in the world that you had occupied at that time, the world that had taken me many failed attempts to penetrate, for there was no place for magic there. I assume that once it had recognized its partner in blood, it returned to the last place steeped in magic where its owner had once occupied, and remained there ever since."

"Why didn't you go back and get it?"

He actually laughed at this, although it was humorless. "Unfortunately, as obtuse as wizards these days have become, I believe that most people would notice if I simply strolled into the halls of Hogwarts school for a brief visit."

"We've got no choice," I said roughly. "You said that tonight was the 15th of June?" He only looked at me in response. "By tomorrow, everyone that the Second Locket's been used upon will be dead unless we reunite both of them! We have to go now!"

His mouth curved into a smile. "I don't think that's possible."

"Don't you understand?" I was shouting again, fearful and furious, this was so _typical_ of him to be so calm when the world was falling apart, "The Lockets drain the user's energy if they're used separately! That's you too, don't you get it, Tom? You'll _die!_"

He was still looking at me, except there was a mixture of real surprise and curiosity in his eyes now. This infuriated me more than anything.

"_What?_" I said.

"You called me Tom," he said simply.

I stared at him and wondered if it really had been that long or if Riddle was just starting to go a little bit senile.

Before I could say anything else, Voldemort cut in, "I know, Ariadne. I have always known."

The roaring silence was back. Time passed.

I did not want to understand the implications behind his words.

"No," I said, staring at him. "No, don't tell me you've had some sort of epiphany about death, Riddle..."

"Is it harder for the one who leaves, or the one that is left behind?" He said quietly. "I have almost experienced the former, and I have experienced the latter...and I daresay you would find my conclusion surprising..."

"No," I said again, "No."

"I have only managed to resist the Locket for so long because it drew upon the energy of my Horcruxes first," he said, still in a quiet, thoughtful tone, "I have had time to come to terms with this. It was not easy. But alas, my final Horcrux is destroyed...Nagini is gone..."

I was shaking again but for a completely different reason than before. I did not know what my expression looked like- it felt quite blank, numb even- but the warmth that slid down my face and the bitter salt I tasted on my lips was unmistakeable.

His red eyes followed the trail of one tear down my face and there was no disguising the flicker of longing there. "I have killed hundreds, thousands more people since you last looked at me like that," he said quietly. "Why do you weep for me?

"You can't...I..." For the first time I noticed how tired he looked, a weariness that did not show on his face but a bone deep fatigue that echoed in his movements, that reverberated in the sound of his voice. And this frightened me over anything else I had seen tonight, terrified me more than anything else in the world. "...you didn't answer my question."

"And what was that?" He said, and there was a definite weary edge to his voice.

I got up and walked around the table so that I stood directly in front of him. The air around him was very cold. I could feel it press against my skin like a sickness.

He tilted his head upwards slightly so that he was looking up at me.

"_Why_?" I said desperately. "Why did you bind me to the Locket? Why did you tie my Fate with yours? Why me?"

There was a pause before he answered, during which his mouth curved into a mocking smile.

"You fool," he said gently, "Have you not realised it yet?"

And I knew then, because the taunting, pitiless scarlet eyes were telling me so, a truth he would never speak and a reality that I had to face...a reality that meant his death, and mine.

My heart stuttered in my chest and then began to thump at double the speed. Strange how this combination of agony and elation made it beat the way it did.

All this time.

All this _Time_.

Longing ran through me, as fierce as a live wire but tempered by the fear I felt for the approaching end and my own disbelief that he would-that he _could_-me?-even after all this Time...

"Lolita complex," I muttered hoarsely because it was the first thing I thought of and he laughed. I gave him a brittle smile but my muscles couldn't hold it for long and it quickly slipped from my face.

"Tom," I whispered, "where's the First Locket? Tell me where it is, let me fix this..."

Unsmiling now, Voldemort said, "It cannot be stopped."

"Don't ask me to sit here and watch you die," I said fiercely. My heart was beating a violent tattoo against my ribs and he studied me for a long time with a look that was part contemplative, part nostalgic.

"The Locket," he said slowly, "returned back to the last place it occupied, where it waits for its owner."

"The Room of Requirement?"

"Think, Ariadne," he said. "Remember..."

I ran the last moments that I had with the First Locket through my mind...I was with Tom in the Room of Requirement, we had been playing cards and I had so, so stupidly taken it off and put it on the table...

But that wasn't all, was it? Because my Time with him had ended; had been interrupted when Draco had attempted to get in...the Locket had fallen off the table...

I stopped breathing. Mouth agape, I recalled the words Dumbledore had written in a letter to me that had sat atop a small, brown suitcase upon my entrance into the room I had once shared with Hermione and Luna...

_"I have taken the liberty of providing you with a few essentials in the suitcase currently residing on your bed. Some of the items may seem...familiar...if you happen to have any questions..."_

"Oh my God," I breathed. "It's...? This whole time?"

Voldemort closed his eyes and nodded.

Adrenaline and fear shot through my veins like lightning, chasing away the ice that had built up there. I made to bolt for the door but stopped myself in the same movement.

"Come with me," I said to him.

He opened his eyes; they rested on mine. He stood up and I shrank back a little; if I had ever thought he was tall before then he positively towered over me now. Yet I took his hand and twisted my fingers with his; he gazed down at me with an unreadable expression as I tugged him along.

Once we left the room, I pulled my wand out.

"_Accio Locket!_" I said. Nothing happened.

"Figures," I muttered. Guided by the light of my wand, I manoeuvred a path through the clutter of antique furniture and piles upon piles of ancient books that blocked the hallways, and I led him past the debris of smashed ornaments where Harry and Draco had fought his Death Eaters the night we left for 1944. My pace quickened once we reached the floor where I remembered my old room was and I knocked over several candelabras and bookpiles in my haste to find it.

I checked every door along the hall but none matched the room that I remembered; both frustration and despair was beginning to build in me the longer we wandered these dark corridors. It did not help that I had only the barest memory of what the room looked like, or that in the half light of the halls the place seemed almost labyrinthine.

Fighting my rising panic, I said, "It's probably upstairs then."

I said it mostly to reassure myself. The ticking of the grandfather clock seemed to grow louder as I ascended, Voldemort following me like a shadow.

When we reached the landing, I felt him stop abruptly. I turned around, alarmed.

"What is it?" I whispered. My wandlight cast strange shadows over his face.

He only shook his head and motioned silently for me to keep moving. Uncertainly, I turned back around; I had barely taken another step when I felt him stagger; I whirled around and caught him. Terrified, I steadied him so that he was leaning against the wall. He was so pale that he seemed to emit a pearly glow in the darkness but what little color he had left in the bloodless face drained as I watched him. It frightened me to feel how weak his grip suddenly was around my hand.

_"I know, Ariadne. I have always known."_

His red eyes found mine.

"Okay- okay," I said, panicking but trying to hide it, "You stay here, alright? Stay here and I'll be back, I promise-"

I brought his hands to my mouth and kissed the tips of his fingers.

"-I'll be back," I whispered.

I left him, running as fast as my legs could take me, bursting into every room and turning it over in my ferocious and desperate search; and when I found nothing I told myself that it would be in the next room, then the next one after that, then the next one...

The door burst into splinters with a _bang_ as I cursed it with my wand. I took one look around and knew that I had, miraculously, found it.

The Death Eaters must have gotten here before I had for the furniture was torn and smashed. Even the window that I remembered I had once sat at, staring at the stars, was in glass shards on the floor.

I stumbled to my bed: _yes_, oh God, the suitcase was still there although it was upturned and its contents spilled everywhere. I turned it over and tore my way through it, pulling out an innumerable selection of items both familiar and unfamiliar: a multitude of socks, a worn pack of cards, a battered hairbrush, a small pillow and a man's shoe.

But the answering silver glint I was looking for was not there. Not daring to believe it, I turned over each item again hoping that the Locket had slipped somehow between the folds of a skirt, or perhaps had gotten caught on the button of a coat-but to no avail.

I threw the dress I was holding down just as the grandfather clock began to chime midnight. I was crying in earnest even though I knew that would not help things at all- I had been certain, so certain that it would be here. For if the Locket had indeed returned to the last place it had occupied then it should have been in my schoolbag, into which it had dropped after it had fallen from the table. And if it was in my schoolbag, then it should have been here in this suitcase where Dumbledore had kept all the things I'd left behind on my last night in Hogwarts-

But it was not here! It should have been here but there was no point in saying that if it was not _directly in front of my face_-

My eyes landed on the man's shoe that I had tossed out of the suitcase. Draco's shoe. That had been there too...I had even taken it out of my bag in the search for the Map...

And then out of the blue, a strange and most wonderful thought occurred to me: what if the Locket, once in the schoolbag, had fallen into...?

I dived for the shoe; I held it up and tipped it over. Something silver flashed in the moonlight streaming through the broken window and a searing heat burst in my hand, as both Locket and owner rejoiced at their reunion.

I let out a cry of triumph that was cut short as I noticed that the grandfather clock still yet chimed; I was back on my feet in an instant and burst out of the room.

"Tom, _Tom_, I found it, everything's going to be alright-" I stopped, my heart leapt up into my throat as I saw the dark figure slumped against the wall on the ground. I collapsed next to him. His eyes were still open and although his breaths were shallow, he was still _breathing_.

I held up the First Locket and it warmed faintly in response to the Second around his neck. I waited expectantly but nothing happened. And everywhere, everywhere was the booming of the clock's chimes.

"What do I do?" I whispered even though I was hardly audible over the clamour. "Tell me what to do..."

"Will you be the one to kill me then, Ariadne?" Voldemort said in a voice that was barely a sigh; it was not so much a real question as a taunt of his former words but it cut into me like a knife nonetheless.

"Don't be stupid," I murmured, "you're not going to die..."

The clock chimed its final refrain and the silence that followed it was deafening. He managed a weak smirk and then his eyes fluttered shut.

He was not yet dead; I could hear him breathing. But I was mourning already as I listened to his breaths in the darkness and silence of this terrible place, mourning for all the things that I could not change, for the man I had murdered and who had murdered _me_.

I was so concentrated on him that I didn't notice when the Locket glowed silver in its place lying forgotten on the floor. I didn't notice the Threads, like treacherous vines, creeping along the outskirts of my peripheral vision until my hands were bound once more and the pulsing auras were back.

"Tom," I tried to say, but I had no mouth. I didn't want to leave him.

Please, no, don't make me leave him.

I was gone.

888

"You are as omniscient as ever, Dumbledore."

"Oh, no, merely friendly with the local barmen," said Dumbledore lightly. "Now, Tom..."

Dumbledore set down his empty glass and drew himself up in his seat, the tips of his fingers together in a very characteristic gesture.

"...let us speak openly. Why have you come here tonight, surrounded by henchmen, to request a job we both know you do not want?"

Voldemort looked coldly surprised.

"A job I do not want? On the contrary, Dumbledore, I want it very much."

"Oh, you want to come back to Hogwarts, but you do not want to teach any more than you wanted to when you were eighteen. What is it you're after, Tom? Why not try an open request for once?"

Voldemort sneered.

"If you do not want to give me a job-"

"Of course I don't," said Dumbledore. "And I don't think for a moment you expected me to. Nevertheless, you came here, you asked, you must have had a purpose."

Voldemort stood up. He looked less like Tom Riddle than ever, his features thick with rage.

"This is your final word?"

"It is," said Dumbledore, also standing.

"Then we have nothing more to say to each other."

"No, nothing," said Dumbledore, and a great sadness filled his face. "The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes. But I wish I could, Tom...I wish I could..."

There was a moment of tension during which Voldemort's hand had twitched towards his pocket and his wand; but then the moment had passed, Voldemort had turned away, the door was closing and he was gone.

Anger reared its head him in like a snake but he controlled it, striding through the familiar halls of Hogwarts, his first kingdom and birthright. Gone were the days of his youth when he had lashed out, unrestrained...he was a master of his anger now and although he did not deny that it would be satisfying to kill the old Muggle-loving fool, to do so tonight would be unnecessary...quite unnecessary...

He stopped in front of a bare stretch of wall, next to a tapestry of dancing trolls. Then he was entering a room that was more a maze than anything else; a cavernous room with towering walls of abandoned, illegal or otherwise dangerous artefacts.

He looked down at the object in his hands. It had once been Ravenclaw's diadem...although it was more than that now, wasn't it?

And then unbidden, a memory came to mind of a vast forest carpeted by blue and violet flowers, and a girl in a shimmering white dress-

He severed the path of the memory and without further preamble, strode through the alleyways of the room. It irritated him that Dumbledore had succeeded in guessing that he had indeed had another purpose for this visit. Then, he had always known the old fool had a talent for poking his crooked nose where it was not wanted...

He left the tiara and the room and walked out into the snowing courtyard. One of his Death Eaters (ah, and that really was a more fitting name than his previous choice because that was the foe he had all but conquered) was already waiting for him by the gates.

"Did everything go well, my Lord?" Rabastan Lestrange said eagerly, when he approached.

"Everything went as planned," Voldemort said coldly. "Although Dumbledore did not consider it...fitting to employ me as a teacher."

Lestrange shrank away slightly as Voldemort's eyes seemed to flash red and Voldemort smiled thinly.

"In any case, tell the others to go without me," he said after a moment's pause. "I have not visited my old school in sometime...and I daresay I am becoming a little nostalgic, Rabastan..."

Lestrange nodded obediently and left the gate and Voldemort walked through the grounds alone, surveying the white-covered landscape. It seemed strange, empty without the usual black-clad students for all of them were indoors, in the warmth of the castle...

He stared out at the black waters of the great Lake. He remembered sitting along its banks, underneath the shade of the old beech tree-which still yet stood, to his interest- that grew there by the lakeside.

Then he was remembering something else: an image of a girl sitting by herself underneath that same tree, almost hidden entirely by the wildflowers that nodded around her. She was playing with something silver in her hand that flashed and winked in the sun-

He was beginning to grow annoyed with himself. Voldemort turned, about to leave when he noticed something: a splash of black against the white, like ink on paper.

He drew closer and saw with a sort of detached surprise that it was a student wearing the black Hogwarts robes. She was kneeling in the snow, her head in her hands and he had time to wonder about her stupidity before she looked up and the thought was quickly chased out of his mind.

He had only ever seen eyes as dark as those before.

"Ah," the girl choked and somewhere in his numb disbelief he noticed the frozen trails of ice down her face, "Tom."

"You're back," he heard himself say.

Something close to fear flitted across her face as she stared back. Fury was building inside him, and all thoughts of mastering his anger flew far, far away as he looked into the thin and insolent face of the girl that had vanished without a trace over a decade ago.

He did not know how it happened, but he was suddenly pinning her by the throat against the beech tree behind her. She gasped for air and a savage pleasure mixed with rage filled him at the sight.

"Where did you go?" He shouted and he was no longer Lord Voldemort, but Tom Riddle, "Where were you?"

"I..."

He released her roughly; she collapsed against the tree, gasping for air.

"Ten years!" He screamed and it felt was though he were losing his mind, surely he was, for only lunatics screamed at dead people as he did now, "Ten years since you betrayed me, since you vanished from the school! Ten years since I had tried to find you until at last I accepted your death!"

The girl was crying again but he either did not notice or did not care; he seized her by her collar and pressed his wand against her throat like a knife.

"I have already come to terms with your death once," he said in a deceptively calm voice although his hands were shaking with barely suppressed anger, "I can do it again. _Tell me where you were_."

"15th of June," she gasped out and Tom frowned in confusion, "1998."

He let her go and he stared at her. "What?"

"I'm sorry!" She cried, tears still pouring down her face as she staggered away from him. "I'm sorry, I can't stop it-"

Tom lunged for her but she vanished; his howl echoed in the whistling and biting wind of the blizzard.

888

"Welcome back."

I gasped into life; the breath like a punch in the gut. I was lying on my back and I scrambled to my feet, staring wildly around, shivering from the snow that still clung to my robes and the ends of my hair.

I was in Hogwarts again. The corridors were familiar. Three grey figures stood at the far end and I staggered towards them.

_Take me back!_ I gasped and they said nothing, only watched me with blank sockets. _Please, I'll do anything-_

"You have already done everything you can for us," the one at the very end, the Third, said.

"When your Time ends, the Keeper will cease to exist," said the Second.

Proclaimed the First: "And all will belong to us."

My knees gave out and I collapsed to the floor, holding my head in my hands. _Why?_ I choked out in despair. _Why me? Why choose me?_

"We did not choose," the Second said.

"He did," said the First at the same time the Third said, "You did."

They began to speak in unison.

"When he fell in love with you."

"When you fell in love with him."

The First said: "Because of this, he severed Time to tie your Fate to his."

The Third said: "Because of this, you chose him over your friends. You ensured that he would fall in love with you. You created this loop where Time does not exist and we are all encompassing."

Something emerged from the fog of my memory, of when I had first received my wand. I had had no money and when I had wanted to pay for it, Ollivander had said: _"Nothing. It is yours. Dumbledore has simply asked me to keep hold of it from when you left it, until you returned._"

I remembered being confused by his words, at the time... but now I understood.

I would die here, in 1944. I would leave my wand behind. Dumbledore would find it, ask the wandmaker to keep it until the Ariadne de Lioncourt of a future I was not part of walked through his shop. With the wand, she would go back...she would meet _him_. And the cycle would begin again.

An endless loop. An infinite circle.

But what would happen to me then, the surplus?

I didn't want to voice the question. Instead I said, _And my corpus? _

"Existed only as an idea meant to entangle your Threads further. If you had not thought you were ill..."

_I never would have asked him for help_, I whispered. I remembered how I had despaired over my sickness, yet unknown, during my research that lasted well into the hours of the night in the Library...I remembered the strange dream I had of a crone and how I had been woken by a book falling almost into my lap, _Magical Maladies & Their Symptoms_. The book that had told me of my corpus defessum.

Ah.

It was only now that I was beginning to appreciate how well I had been manipulated.

_But then what brought me back to the day Grindelwald attacked, in the past?_ I asked. _Why do I time travel without using the Locket? Isn't it...?_

The Third Sister gave a scornful laugh and although she had no visible mouth, the sound reverberated in my bones. "It was not your corpus defessum that brought you back. It was you."

"You are blood bound to the First Locket and so, you retained a little of its power," murmured the Second.

The First sneered. "Did you think it was mere coincidence that the night you asked him to help you with your corpus defessum and he refused, that you were brought to the future where the Tom Riddle that existed then all but told you how to convince him to help you? Mere coincidence that when you dwell upon the deaths caused by Gellert Grindelwald and his army you are brought to the day that you saw it with your very own eyes? Whether subconsciously or not, you were already using its power."

Another memory came to me: of when I had first travelled back to the day of Grindelwald's attack. I had been in the bathtub...I had wondered how he had found the ingredients to finish my corpus potion and then I had suddenly found myself in The Three Broomsticks, and I was watching Rookwood and Crabbe steal them before my eyes...

I had thought it was my wand, then.

"As your Time deteriorates, so do you," the Three Fates said in unison.

That was why Riddle's potion hadn't worked, I realized. Even though Tom had never been wrong before...

_Then where's the rest of it?_ I said abruptly. _Where did my Time go?_

"It was found by a wandmaker, before you were born."

I closed my eyes. _Ollivander_...I murmured. My fingers gripped my wand with its core of tempus tightly and the wood warmed in response.

The Third sneered. "Yes...ironic that it should find you again."

"Even now, it seeks to be rejoined," said the Second.

I stared at the red brown wood, thinking hard. _How much Time do I have left?_

Their faces stretched into an awful grin.

"Enough," they said together and I turned and began to run.

888

I visited Dumbledore's office first.

I knocked on the door, recalling how I had once blasted it apart when I was still new to magic, a lifetime ago.

"Enter," a voice said and I slipped inside. Dumbledore looked up from the roll of parchment on his desk; he was wearing something like a white, star-strewn dressing gown although he seemed wide awake.

"Ari!" He said in surprise, " To what do I owe this very late pleasure?"

I wanted to apologize for interrupting his work but the seconds were ticking, ticking-

"I messed up," I said.

His expression became grave; before he could say anything, I cut in, "I'm really sorry, Professor but I don't have a lot of time. I need to ask you a favor."

I waited anxiously; he nodded once for me to continue. I twisted my hands together.

"Look after my brother," I blurted out desperately. "I've screwed everything up. There'll be a time in 1997 when you come across him in front of Borgin and Burkes. He'll be angry and stupid and desperate to prove himself. And when you do meet him, tell him..." I hesitated, remembering the last words I had spoken to him with a rush of shame, "...'It's never too late'."

I met the infinitely kind blue eyes and said quietly, "Please sir, will you?"

He gazed at me for a moment and it was though he knew everything I had done...and was about to do. "Of course."

Words could not express the gratitude and relief I felt; I could only choke out a hoarse 'thank you' before I turned away again.

"Ari?" Dumbledore said and I stopped, already halfway out of his office, "Remember that things have to be broken in order for them to be repaired."

I didn't have Time to ask him what he meant.

888

My second visit involved me travelling in time. The Fates had said that I could do it, because I was blood bound to the Locket...yet really, it was a question of _how_.

I had never done it purposely before. It had always been an accident in the past...

For a lack of ideas, I decided to do it like Apparition (although I had never done that before either, goddammit). I fixed my mind on the point in the past, remembering the moment as I had experienced it in that time as best as I could and let the desperation flood my thoughts.

I did a stupid twirl on the spot yet I didn't fall over; my wand twitched in my hand and then I was falling, falling-

I landed face first into the floor of the Hospital Wing. I scrambled to my feet, looking around incredulously at the dusky sunlight that streamed in through the windows. It was a miracle that I had managed to do it unscathed- but then again, I thought wryly, I had already done this before, hadn't I?

I immediately began to rifle through the room's cupboards. I was looking for the jar of purple green ointment that Madame Laroche had given me once, after Riddle had refused my request for help and he had slashed my face in our duel in the Library.

I wasn't surprised when I found it. Even though the chances that this jar was the same one Madame Laroche had used on me were extremely slim I had no doubt in my mind that this was the one. One thing about the past- everything was assured, because everything had already happened.

I unscrewed the lid and pulled out a scrap of paper from my pocket. I scrawled two words on the paper.

**Not yet.**

I was telling 'myself' not to give up. 'Myself', dying from a disease that was not a disease in the past...

I would see this through to the very end.

I tucked the paper into the jar and put it back into the cupboard before I turned around and started sprinting through the castle. I stopped on the second floor and saw Avery standing in front of the girl's bathroom. I had come to the right Time after all.

He sneered when he saw me approaching him. "Find another bathroom, you can't come in here-"

"_Stupefy!_" I shouted and he was thrown off his feet. Now out cold, I dragged him inside the bathroom and left him in one of the stalls.

I moved to the sink and splashed water over my face. I was feeling sick again and I stared at my tired reflection in the spotted, stained mirror. My corpus was...no. Not my corpus.

My Time was almost gone and it showed.

I heard the door to the bathroom grate open. When I turned, I saw Myrtle enter, her eyes pink and swollen behind her glasses.

"You can't be in here," I said.

"What? Why?" She said suspiciously.

"Dumbledore sent me," I lied convincingly, "I'm supposed to tell students that this bathroom's closed. Some idiot jinxed all the toilets and believe me, you don't want to know what they do now."

"Why should I believe you?" Myrtle said and in response, I pointed to the stall where Avery's legs were sticking out from beneath.

Her eyes filled with tears. "That's just perfect, isn't it? I can't even be alone for five minutes-"

And then she burst out of the bathroom, sobbing loudly. I let out a sigh of relief but stopped mid breath when I heard the sounds of footsteps approaching the door. That was Riddle and 'I'...we were about to make his first Horcrux. Murder Olive Hornby.

For an awful moment, I was tempted to go out and stop them-after all, what good did his Horcruxes do him, in the end- but instead, I hid in one of the stalls, closing the door quietly behind me.

"Hello?" I heard my voice say. I shut my eyes and willed myself back to my present; my wand gave a jerk and I accidentally knocked my elbow against the wall as I fell-

I was back in the corridor and the Fates were watching me yet again.

"Are you quite finished?" The Third Fate said.

Ignoring them, I stood up.

Although it frightened me more than anything, I had to make my third and final visit.

888

Tom stifled a yawn, pausing in the middle of one of the nastier potions books he had found in the Restricted Section of the school library. He had borrowed it long ago, to help with some of the theory behind Ariadne's corpus potion and had not looked at it since his initial readthrough. However, since they were now starting from scratch, he felt that it would not be unwise to look over it again, although he recalled each paragraph perfectly from memory.

His eyes drifted shut as he lay in his armchair in the Slytherin common room; he had spent nearly the entire day gallivanting about in Time, dealing with his own stubborn self (and earning a rather nasty cut on his cheek, _again_, for his troubles) and fighting Grindelwald's soldiers- it came as no surprise then, that sleep claimed him fully the minute he closed his eyes.

But Tom was a light sleeper and the soft groan of the dungeon door that was the room's entrance as it opened was enough to send his eyes snapping open and his wand out and pointed casually, but deceivingly, at the floor. Fully alert, he waited for the intruder- for Evans and McDonald had gone to bed long before, he knew, and there was no one left but himself- and drummed his long fingers patiently on the handle of his wand.

Then when the figure came into view of the light of the fireplace, he straightened immediately. Riddle was rarely surprised, but in that moment he was completely and utterly stunned when the person opened their mouth with a quiet, "Hello."

"Ariadne?" Tom said, suddenly wide awake. He lowered his wand and set aside the book in his lap as the figure stepped closer so that she was visible by the firelight. "What are you..."

He trailed off as he took in her dishevelled appearance. Her face was very pale and her hair streamed down her back, its ends dripping water. Her clothes were crumpled and wet as well, and some dark-colored stain was splotched liberally on the front of her blouse.

Ariadne looked around, moving further into the center of the room. "So this is the famous Slytherin common room," she said. She smiled weakly. "Bit gloomy, isn't it?"

"How did you get in?" Tom said with a frown as she put her hands out to the fire, warming them.

"I can't say it was as easy for me as it was for you," she muttered, now taking a seat in the armchair that faced his own. Tom realized that she was referring to how the portrait guarding the Gryffindor common room had once granted him entrance. " I had to Stun a couple of people just to get the password."

A silence broken only by the crackling of the fire followed her words and Tom wondered again why she was here. Ariadne was looking at him, her dark eyes fixed to his own and there was a desperate, hungry expression in them that Tom had never seen there before. Something had changed about her, in the way she seemed almost shrunken in the armchair, in the way her eyes burned in her face. Echoes of some strange but infinite grief sounded in the hollows of her neck, etched lines in her forehead, weighed on the corners of her mouth.

"You're...different," Tom said at last and her mouth tightened in surprise. The grin that it had been barely supporting collapsed on itself and she looked down.

"You know, I've always liked that about you," she said quietly. "You notice everything. Not always a good thing, but..."

He narrowed his eyes at her, not sure if she was mocking him or not. Abruptly he realized the reason for the difference: she looked older. His mind quickly connected the pieces together and he said sharply, "You're time travelling?"

Her expression was blank but Riddle caught something flicker in her eyes. "How is that possible?"

She attempted another grin. "You know I can't say anything about the future."

Tom was both nonplussed and irritated at her cavalier attitude and he said roughly, "What are you doing here then?"

Ariadne shrugged. "I just wanted to talk. Were you about to go to bed?"

"No," Tom said shortly. He was tempted to ask why she did not simply talk to his self that existed in her present but something in her expression prevented him from doing so.

Another silence fell but Ariadne did not seem to mind; she was staring at her hands now.

"This is a bit embarrassing," she said suddenly, "but can you tell me when exactly am I?"

He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes as he gave her the date and she looked stunned.

"Ah," she said and a crease appeared between her brows. "Yeah...that explains a lot."

Tom had had enough; fatigue was beginning to weigh down on his eyelids once more and he was not in the mood to play any guessing games.

"Ari," he said wearily, "Why are you really here?"

She looked away from him, clasping her hands loosely together. Riddle's curiosity peaked as he noticed for the first time the red rims around her eyes, as though she'd been crying. She shifted restlessly in her chair.

"After my parents died, things were very hard for me," she said quietly and Tom stilled at the change in topic. "I was alone for the first time in my life. I pretty much just closed my eyes to the rest of the world. Lived without living."

She stared into the fire and its flickering light glinted in her eyes.

"And then I came here," she said quietly. "and I met all these people and Hogwarts was like a home to me...and you..." Her gaze flashed up to his and it was searing again, "You made me angry and hurt and sad, and I have cried because of you more times than I have any other person in my life...but when I was with you, I was happier than I had been in a very long time." Another weak smile. "At least, when you weren't trying to kill me."

Riddle stared.

"Regardless of anything else, I have to thank you for that," she looked down and Tom had the sense that she was choosing her next words very carefully. "I stopped pretending to live because of you. And I guess I just want you to know that."

She broke off and she looked suddenly nervous.

Tom's mind was whirling; he was torn between suspicion and disbelief at what she had just told him. "Ariadne..." He began but the words that succeeded her name would not come.

She closed her eyes slowly; her mouth trembled. "Say my name again?"

He did not know why he complied but his lips were shaping the sound of it even before he realized he wanted to. She opened her eyes.

"I'm in love with you," she said quietly and a chill ran down his spine. "I want you to know that too."

His mind was blank. Utterly blank. If he had thought he was shocked before when she had entered then that was nothing, nothing at all compared to this.

_She's lying!_ A part of him screamed furiously and he knew that that must be the truth, yes of course it was, yet he could not help the surge of a confused tumult of emotions that welled up in him like a bitter flood until he didn't know anger from sadness, hate from hope and above else, the thread of longing that ran through it all.

Ariadne's mouth twisted ruefully, as if she understood. "I wish I could stay longer, but..." Her eyes travelled almost unwillingly to the elegant silver clock above the mantlepiece. Seeming to steel herself, she stood up. She offered him another collapsing grin.

Tom's mind began to move again. "Wait-" he said, ready to demand further explanation for her disconcerting behaviour and frustrating words-

But she was already gone.

888

I arrived in a time that was unfamiliar to me.

I was standing on a grassy knoll overlooking a lake; the wind whipped my hair around my face. Rain poured down.

I did not belong here. I felt that instinctively. This was a Hogwarts centuries before I was even born. I felt transparent, strangely insubstantial, as though I were not as real here as I was in my present.

Yet something had brought me to this time.

I wrapped my arms around myself as the rain fell on me, through me. I was holding my breath, shivering in the cold, waiting for something although I did not know what it was. Then I saw them.

A man and a woman. They were walking around the lake together; the rain did not seem to bother them. The man was tall, with a strong, stern face and grey eyes that were somehow familiar. The woman was proud and beautiful, with flowing black hair. They seemed to be deep in conversation; the man said something unintelligible from my distance and the woman laughed.

I stared.

The woman seemed to feel my gaze, for she looked the direction of the knoll. Our eyes met and she frowned.

I closed my eyes as the wind sliced through me like a knife and then I was gone.

888

Laughter and conversation bounced distantly around me. I could feel the sun, warm on my face.

I opened my eyes and doubled over in pain. I collapsed on the ground, panting, gasping for air as my body fought its inevitable end. The pain didn't even disappear now; it was always present: a constant, watching stranger that dulled and sharpened like the ebb and flow of a tide. I forced myself to ignore it; I stood up and looked around.

I was not in my present and yet I recognized my surroundings to be the stone path that led down to the Black Lake. Students were sitting around its banks and their chatter drifted to me on the wind. With a jolt, I realized that this was where the knoll had once stood.

It was almost sunset; most of the black clad figures were heading up to the castle. One did not; taking the path that led towards the Forbidden Forest instead. It felt like the bottom had fallen out of my stomach when I recognized that it was me.

I realized that I was not too far from the present then: this was the very night that Draco had found me and Riddle in the Room of Requirement, only hours before.

I tasted blood in my mouth, but I ignored it. A wonderful possibility had occurred to me: I could stop it. If I could stop Draco from getting to the Room then I could somehow prevent all the terrible things that I had gone through tonight. Somehow-I didn't know how but surely that did not matter, I had to break the loop, never mind that I was dying, that my body was tearing itself apart before my very eyes-

I began to run.

_Move._

My torn and battered sneakers slipped on the cold marble staircase, making me stumble into a small group of twittering, black clad people. Ignoring the stony looks I received, I pushed them roughly out of the way and fought breath after breath, trying to keep myself upright.

_Move, dammit!_

I was slowing down, I knew. It felt like I was running through a vat of wet cement, every step somehow clinging onto the hard surface of the ground: a scene from my very worst nightmares. Each and every individual muscle in my legs was crying, begging for surcease...it stung my bloated pride more than I could say to realize that I was crying too.

Sweat beaded across my forehead as I grit my teeth and through sheer willpower staggered forward another few steps.

What was I doing? _What was I doing?_ I was truly a fool, like he had said. I could not change anything, I couldn't just stay here—

_Focus_, I thought. _Focus is the key...focus on anything...the ground! The walls, the sky.._.

The pulse ran through my shaking body again, and I fought it off, concentrating instead on the ground beneath my feet, the place I was in, the time I was in.

One of my legs gave out then, as though part of a marionette whose strings had gone slack and I collapsed with it, snapping my head painfully against the stone wall behind me. My hands were shaking, trembling, though not from fear.

Salt exploded in my mouth; red stained my lips and then hands.

I was splitting at the seams, like flimsy burlap sack made frail from overuse. This was it.

It was almost insulting to realize that there were really only a few minutes left, that what I had been counting were not hours, but in fact, minutes. Time stood still for me, now. I was out of His authority.

I had been used.

And though I was dying, this small, insignificant thought managed to kindle the small spark of rebellion inside me that I thought had been crushed, stamped out long ago. Yes, this was it. For me.

Only for me.

As I reached into my robes to take hold of the item that had been the cause of all of this, the cause of everything, and brought it out to clench tightly in my fist, the resonating gongs of the clocktower boomed mockingly in my ears.

"It's over," I heard voices say in unison. It hurt to raise my head to look at the three Fates, standing in front of me. "Your Time is up."

My back spasmed and then was still. I could hear the ragged, disjointed pounding of my heart and wondered how it was miraculously still beating. My eyelids grew heavier; when I blinked, the periods of darkness behind them grew longer.

_Tom..._I murmured.

They were right. It was all over for me. I would die, he would become Lord Voldemort, he would sever my Strand and tangle our Fates together beyond saving. Ariadne de Lioncourt would find her wand that I would leave behind...she would come back...she would meet him...and he would fall in love with her...why, why, why...

"It's over," the Fates repeated and it seemed their voices had grown fainter. "Over..."

_Tom,_ I sighed.

Only for me.

With a tremendous effort, I looked down at the object I clutched in my hand. My wand.

I owed so much to it. It had saved my life so many times. It had brought me here, the beginning and end of my life.

_"It will be your decision that matters most in the end."_

It had brought me to him.

Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, I brought my other hand to take hold of the other end of the red brown wood. I sighed.

"What are you doing?" The Third Fate demanded.

I sighed again, a name.

And then with an effort that killed me, I snapped my faithful wand in half.

I was so lost to the darkness that the screams of the crones did not hurt me. I barely noticed them. The cold and pain faded from my body. It didn't matter anymore.

This was the end, but only for me.

My heart stopped beating.

The air left my lungs.

My eyes slid shut, and then I felt and hurt and loved no more.

**A/N: Not the end just yet.**

**Writing this chapter physically exhausted me. I've never put so much emotional effort into a pair of characters as these two before-like, my heart actuallyy hurts. I even had a tiny breakdown halfway through because I realized that the end of this story was near.**

**Let me know what you think and, as always, thank you.**


	26. The One That Is Left Behind

**Disclaimer: **Absolutely not mine.

**A/N: **Hello everyone. First off, please pardon the lateness of this chapter- I had to be in a very specific mood to write some parts of it and it took me some time to plan out things like dialogue, etc.

Also, it would be best to read the first chapter again before you read this one (**Chapter 1: Time**) so that you can see where I'm coming from with some of the stuff in this one; it's quite short.

* * *

**Pretending To Live**

**Chapter 25: The One That Is Left Behind**

_My eyes slid shut, and then I felt and hurt and loved no more._

It was peaceful.

At first, I thought I was floating because I couldn't feel anything. Not the pull of gravity, not the brush of wind against my cheek. Just nothingness.

And because I could feel nothing, it was sheer bliss. I floated like this for a while, dreaming, in a state that was neither conscious nor sleeping but somewhere halfway in between.

I dreamed of color. Of blues and yellows, greens and greys. I dreamed of the color red most of all.

It was because of my dreams that when I awoke I noticed the darkness. An intangible but absolute darkness that surrounded me.

I tried to put out my hand in front of me but I could not feel where it was.

I could not see. I could not smell. I could not hear.

And then just like that, the peaceful numbness became a prison.

Fear-the first emotion I had felt since I had woken up in this place- trickled through me. If I could not experience the world around me, and it could not reach me in return, did I exist? Who was I? How did I know that I was _me_?

The fear sharpened.

_My name is Ariadne de Lioncourt_, I said and although the sound of my voice was swallowed up by the infinite black, I felt reassured in the knowledge of my own identity.

I murmured this to myself over and over in the darkness. I had lost so much already, I did not want to lose myself.

And so, in my black prison, I dreamed and reminded myself of who I was and what I had lost.

I grew tired eventually. Although I did not understand how time passed here I felt instinctively that I had been in this darkness for a while.

I decided to try asking a question, although I had no way of knowing if it would be answered.

I spoke to the darkness. _Where am I?_

And the darkness replied, _I cannot say_.

_Who are you?_ I said.

_I am Time_, it said and the whole of the blackness seemed to reverberate in recognition of its being.

The Keeper, I thought.

I asked him, _Did I die?_

_Yes_, the Keeper replied.

I shied away from the darkness then but it was impossible, because it was all around me. So I retreated into myself; in the twilight of my mind, I dreamed again.

Was this death then? This loneliness and suffocating darkness...oh, how terrible it was. I thought of a boy with grey eyes and a man with red and feared for them because I knew that they had died as well and they too were all alone in their very worst fear...

I dreamed, yet I remembered. I wondered if the red-eyed man's body had been found in the dark

(always, always the darkness)

and empty corridor I had left him in. I wondered if the people had rejoiced.

This made me sad.

I turned inward and dreamed. The Keeper, in his infinite patience and Time, waited.

When I resurfaced,

(secondsdaysmonthsyearscentur ies)

later, I remembered his presence. I asked him, _Will you answer my questions?_

_If you want me to_, he replied.

I whispered, _Did it work?_

The syllables spiralled like moths from my lips.

_You broke your wand,_ the Keeper said. _You broke the cycle._

Even though I had no body, I began to cry.

How was this death, when everything still hurt? There was no peace here for me. I was in agony.

_I will never see him again_, I whispered.

I dreamed again, because pain could not touch me there. I was safe only in my memories that were as distant and fragile as butterflies alighting on the surface of my mind. The Keeper waited.

Years

(months)

passed and I did not speak. Then one day out of a perverse curiosity I said finally, _What happened to the Fates?_

_They exist_, the Keeper said simply.

_So I didn't change anything, _I said. A dull terror managed to reach me through all the pain. _They'll find my broken Strand...find me..._

_Your Strand is no longer broken_, he said but I was gone again, dreaming of a boy whose face I had almost forgotten...

_Remember that things have to be broken in order for them to be repaired._

I awoke.

_What do you mean?_ I said.

_You broke your wand. You repaired your Strand of Time._

It was hard to remember. Bits and pieces of my memory were achingly clear but others...I could remember the color red but I did not know why it was important.

I struggled and slowly, sluggishly, the moments of my last breaths came back to me. I had broken my wand, my wand with its tempus core, the Strand that had been severed from me

(by who? I'd forgotten.)

and...I forced myself to concentrate. I must have freed the Strand when I had broken my wand.

_"Even now it seeks to be rejoined."_

Ah...so it had merged with my broken one. My Time was whole once more.

_Too late now, though,_ I whispered.

The Keeper said: _It's never too late._

I was afraid to dream now. I was losing myself each time I went under the tide. I wanted to stay. I wanted to remember.

(I wanted to forget.)

But the darkness frightened me and I was in pain, even though I could no longer remember why I mourned.

_Tell me a story_, I said to the darkness.

_Once, there was a wicked king,_ the Keeper replied. _He had a monster, which he kept hidden in a labyrinth. One day, a hero came to slay the monster and the king's daughter, who had fallen in love with him, gave him a ball of Thread that allowed the hero to find his way back out of the maze, and to her._

_With her help, the hero defeated the monster. On their journey back to his home, they stopped at an island, where they spent the night._

_And in the morning, the hero left the still sleeping princess on the island, forever._

_You altered her Time_, I said, remembering. He said nothing. _Why?_

_I was curious,_ the Keeper said.

For the first time since I had discovered my prison, I was angry. These fickle gods, these false idols who used mortals in their games as if we were nothing more than pawns, who cared nothing and thought nothing of our pain.

_I regretted it_, the Keeper said.

I thought about what he said in this place where time was infinite. I believed him.

_You helped me break the cycle,_ I said.

_Yes,_ the Keeper said.

_How?_

_I borrowed Time from another and gave it to you, at your end. A minute._

I thought about this, about my death. He had given me enough time for me to realize how to end the loop, time that my predecessors had never had...

_Who did you borrow it from?_ I asked.

The darkness was silent.

I lay on the shore of my mind and dreams and memories washed over me like a tide until I did not know where one ended and the other began.

_You can come back, if you want_, said the Keeper, centuries

(minutes)

later.

_I'm dead_, I said.

_Yes. But you have come back before._

Slowly, a picture began to form in my mind: an abandoned, grey street. I remembered the memory of pain. I remembered leaving-

(I remembered darkness)

-I remembered waking up in a room filled with faces that were familiar, yet not.

I remembered what someone had once told me in that same room,

(although it was years later, wasn't it)

that my Time and Fate had wrenched apart from one another in that moment. I had died and I had woken up following the Thread of Fate.

And when I died again, the death that had brought me here...

_Where will I go?_ I asked.

_Because you broke the cycle, your Thread of Fate is gone,_ the Keeper replied._ But you still have Time. All of what is yours._

I could live again. I could come back.

But what was the point? He

(who?)

would not be there, and the face that I had once loved but could not remember would be lost to me...

I slipped under.

But my dreams were uneasy. I dreamed of the world above.

I had spent so long in the darkness that the thought of it frightened me. A world that had simultaneously too much light and too much dark, a world full of fear and disappointment and loss and grief. Surely this infinite, yawning darkness was better, where everything was numb and quiet and the only pain I felt now was ancient and far away...

I thought for a long time.

Millennia. Hours.

Seconds. Centuries.

The Keeper waited.

_I want to come back_, I said.

I had not yet forgotten who I was.

I remembered that I was brave. That was important somehow.

And this darkness was a world without aches and pains but also without life and love and I did not belong here.

The darkness seemed to sigh.

_But...I have one last question._ I hesitated and summoned the memories that I had been guarding, the sharpest and clearest of them. If I concentrated, I could almost remember their faces. _When I arrived in their world...there were certain things that were wrong. In their timeline, I mean. _

I thought of a pair of silver and gold lockets, I thought of the death of a girl named Olive, I thought of a fat lady in a melting pink dress that had not been murdered and a wandmaker that had not been kidnapped. _Why is that?_

_If you drop a pebble into a still pond, the ripples it will cause will become progressively bigger as they radiate outward, no matter how small the stone,_ the Keeper said. _Your presence in the past changed the future._

_No,_ I said. _Even before I arrived, there were changes..._

The darkness did not reply.

A memory flitted through my mind, of a time that did not belong to me, of a man and a woman by a lake. I tried very, very hard to remember their names.

_Ravenclaw and Slytherin_, I said.

_After you disappeared_, the Keeper said, _Slytherin realized that he had fallen in love with her. The idea of his Twin Lockets came to him that night._

Her magic, the magic that I was bound my blood to would have brought me to that time, I realized. A time when she was happy...

_I thought that if I left, the past would adjust to my absence and nothing would have changed,_ I said. And then I added, although I did not remember how I knew this, _Le Chatelier's principle._

_You change the past, you change the future_, Time said simply.

I felt a great rush of sadness.

I could have saved him after all

(who?)

if only I had stayed. He

(who?)

had been right, like he always was...the future was not concrete, it was our choices that mattered most, in the end...

As I spiralled downwards, the Keeper, sensing that I was finished, took me away.

And then the infinite darkness lightened and it was no longer the black of death but the shadow of sleep.

888

"Ari! You'll be late!"

I jumped violently at the sound of my foster-mother's voice, and glanced at the analogue clock on my nightstand.

_The hell...?_

Reaching for it, and turning it over in my hands, I tapped the front twice to try and get it going again. I couldn't, and the hands remained stuck at 4:43 am.

Cursing, I stumbled out of bed looking for the pair of jeans lying somewhere here on the floor that contained my mobile. Upon finding it, I shook out the tiny device from the back pocket, causing it to land unceremoniously on the floor and picked it up, flipping it open to check the time.

It read 8:50.

Dropping it again in shock and muttering a few more choice expletives, I ran for the bathroom.

Twenty minutes, a broken toothbrush, several stubbed toes and a few dozen more swear words later, I was sitting safely in the bus on my ride to school, which, the driver had so kindly informed me, I had been approximately 17 seconds away from missing.

I sighed and leaned my head back against my seat. I closed my eyes, on the verge of falling asleep once more when-

A sharp nudge in the arm closest to the empty seat beside me woke me up.

"Hi there," I muttered.

"Hey. Who shat on your sneakers?" My best and probably only friend Anna said as she collapsed in the seat next to me. I eyed her for a moment, hoping she didn't mean that literally.

I shrugged. "I had a bad dream. Hey, I finished that series, by the way..."

I waited for her to say something but she only shot me a quizzical look. "What series?"

"I..." Something flashed through my mind and was gone. I frowned. "I don't know. Forget about it."

"Still dreaming, huh?" Anna said with a grin.

"Yeah," I said weakly. "I guess I am."

(darkness)

I shivered. It must have been a pretty bad nightmare, for it to affect me like this. I tried to remember it, but it was like playing at catching shadows for all the success I had.

With an effort, I forced myself to pay attention to the still nattering girl in front of me, pushing my worries away.

"-and I was all like, 'Come at me, bro!' And then he said-"

"Wait, what?"

"Oh, pay attention will you?" She said irritably. "I was talking about this incredibly rude fellow I met at the bus stop this morning- he asked me whether I saw some girl he knew."

"Why's that rude?"

"Well, when I told him I didn't know, he looked really annoyed. So I asked him if it was his girlfriend he was looking for and then he just gave me this look and walked away." She rolled her eyes. "I mean _honestly_."

"Ah, well," I said. "Maybe he was in a hurry."

"Well, no wonder she left him," she grumbled.

For some reason what she said filled me with an immense and inexplicable sadness. The grin slipped from my face and I looked down at my hands.

Anna noticed and she said, "Hey, are you alright? You seem a little..."

"I'm okay," I said.

"Are you sure? I know that today is..." She trailed off and it was with a rush of shock that I remembered the date: the 23rd of August. The day my parents had died.

"No, it's fine," I said but I hid my unease. I hadn't realized it until she had brought it up. What was wrong with me? It had only been three years ago, I couldn't just forget them like this...

Yet the anguish that I expected did not come. The wound that had been torn open when I lost them felt healed and the pain no longer a keening hurt but a dull ache.

Although I missed them, I no longer grieved.

(so why did I mourn, still?)

That was good, wasn't it? And yet the unease remained. There was something, something else...something in the darkness of my mind...

_Snip._

I nearly jumped out of my skin and Anna gave a yell of pain as I accidentally elbowed her in the ribs. My heart was pounding rapidly against the walls of my chest; wildly, I looked around.

"What?" Anna said, alarmed.

An unexplainable terror washed over me; it took me a minute to find my voice before I managed to get out, "That sound-"

_Snip._

"Yeah, I hear it too," Anna said, frowning. I stared at her; the punch had never been felt by anyone else but me before. We scanned the seats of the bus for the source of the noise until our eyes landed on a gangly youth clipping his toenails on the seat.

_Snip. Snip._

I looked quickly away and Anna wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Ugh. Well there's my appetite gone," she muttered.

I remained quiet for the rest of the ride.

School started out like any ordinary day, although that in itself was unusual. All day, I waited anxiously for the sucker punch that seemed would never come. I didn't understand it. It scared me a little how much I had come to expect it, even look forward to it-but not today.

Today was exceptionally ordinary. I went to classes, I loitered in halls and took notes. But because it was so ordinary, it felt wrong. I felt as though I were having an out of body experience every time I saw someone walk past in jeans and a t-shirt or talked about what was on the telly the night before and I didn't know why. I saw someone struggling as they tried to lift some gym equipment- with their hands- and wondered why it seemed so unusual to me.

My restlessness only intensified when I sat for my Algebra test later in the day. I stared at the paper the teacher handed out with nothing short of incomprehension. Those tiny black squiggles and symbols were as unfamiliar to me as another language.

But how was that possible? I had known there would be a test today, I had _studied_ for it last night...

Had I?

I tried to remember. What had happened last night?

(darkness)

I dimly recalled poring over my Calculus textbook, but...the memory was faint and vague, as if it had happened a very long time ago...

But it was _last night_. What was the matter with me? Why couldn't I remember?

"Ten minutes left!"

In the end, I only managed to fill in the blank where it asked for my name.

888

I sat by myself at lunch.

Around me, the chatter and laughter of the other students continued. I didn't have much of an appetite, so I didn't really grab anything from what the school was serving...save for one item.

I stared at the apple in my hand.

"Ari?" I looked up and saw Anna setting her tray down in front of me.

"Hey," I said, grateful for the distraction. "How'd you go with the test?"

"God, don't even," she said rolling her eyes. "Halfway through question five I just started drawing what would happen if a moose and a chicken had a baby, I mean _really_..."

"This isn't good," I said, now slightly disturbed. "My teacher said it was a really easy test too."

She waved a fork knowingly at me. "Golden rule of math: if it seems easy, you're doing it wrong."

I forced a laugh and put down my apple. When I looked back up, she was staring at me with a curious expression. "What?"

"Did you get hair extensions?" She said abruptly. "Or did it just grow really long when I had my back turned?"

I touched it self consciously. It almost reached my mid back now. Had it been any other way? Now that I thought about it, though...

The unease pricked at me again.

"I dunno," I said shrugging. "Maybe it's something in the food."

"I knew there was something funky in this stuff," she said, miserably playing with today's casserole.

"You say that every day," I muttered. "For God's sake, just don't eat it."

She made a face and took a bite out of my apple instead. "It's sad, isn't it, when you're too poor to get better lunches and too lazy to make your own?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

She tossed the apple back at me and I caught it. Anna gingerly nibbled at her casserole and made retching noises. I handed her back the apple as she pushed her tray away, looking slightly green and she shot me a thankful grin as she bit into it.

"How was your dad's?" I asked her. Her parents were divorced, but she spent weekends at her father's every fortnight.

"Same old, same old," she shrugged. "It was quiet

(in the darkness)

you know?"

I didn't say anything. I traced the scars on my hand absentmindedly while Anna wondered if she would be allowed to skip soccer practice to go to her hockey club.

"...Ari?"

I looked up. Her eyes were wide, as if she was expecting an answer. Guiltily, I asked, "Sorry An, what was that?"

She looked uncomfortable and she shifted in her seat. "I asked what you thought about it."

"About what?"

It was an ominous sign that she didn't seem offended that I hadn't been listening. "About me...moving."

The bottom dropped out of my stomach. I scrabbled for a way out of my thoughts so that I could focus on the present and this awful news that my one and only friend I had left was telling me. "You're..."

"It wasn't my decision," Anna said miserably. "My mum changed jobs to somewhere up north. She broke the news to me last night, I'm sorry I couldn't tell you sooner..."

Numbly, I said, "When are you going?"

"Next week," she said apologetically. When I said nothing, she rushed on, "I'm really sorry. You're my best friend, Ari, you know how much I'll miss you."

It was hard to speak past the lump in my throat.

"I'll miss you too," I muttered and she squeezed my hand.

"We'll keep in touch, right?" She said brightly.

I nodded but didn't say anything. There was a hollow ache in the center of my chest where her words had pulled at some half healed wound that I was only beginning to become aware of.

It hurt, to always be the one left behind. I had lost my parents, my best friend and...

The nameless ache throbbed.

I was used to being alone. At times, I had even sought it, because there was no one to pretend for when you were by yourself. But somehow, sitting in this crowded lunchroom with the knowledge of yet another goodbye on the horizon, I felt lonelier than I had ever been in my life.

888

"Strange, isn't it?" Anna said as we were stepping out of school at the end of the day.

"What is?" I said automatically, shifting some of the books in my bag.

"All those owls," she replied and I straightened up immediately. She pointed up at the grey sky and I saw a tawny brown bird sweep gracefully through the air followed by two more. "They're not exactly day creatures, are they?"

"Strange," I echoed but I continued to stare at the sky, as if waiting for something that would never come.

The bus arrived and she immediately joined the hustle to get on it. She glanced back and when she saw that I hadn't moved from my spot, she called out, "You're not going home?"

"I think I'll walk today." I waved halfheartedly. And then, because I did not want her to think it was her fault I added, "I'll call you tonight, okay?"

I waited until the bus had driven out of sight before I turned around and began my slow plod home.

Autumn was approaching. I could feel it in my bones. The chill was already hovering in the air.

I wrapped my arms around myself as I walked, stopping and staring occasionally at the cars that drove past and then shaking my head, forcing myself onward.

There was something different about me. I could feel it, as surely as I could feel the bite of autumn. An unfathomable, incomprehensible change that left me weary and exhausted. I was young, just a few more months shy of seventeen, but there was an incomprehensible weight on my lungs, on my thoughts and words and heart. It was the sort of weight that I always had assumed would come with age.

Was it because the pale yellow sunshine seemed too bright? Or perhaps because even the sound of the wind whistling through the grass seemed too loud? I felt very fragile, as if one bump could send me shattering into pieces to the ground. I felt like I could be hurt very easily. I felt like I _had_ been.

Above all else, I felt tired. I wanted to sleep for a thousand years-

(and dream)

-but at the same time, I wanted to smile and laugh and cry with happiness and relief because after so long, I was here, I breathed, I walked, I was _alive_-

I stopped myself short. Where had that thought come from?

I closed my eyes. I fought against the wall of black, tried to remember but

my thoughts

spiralled

downwards

into

the abyss

My eyelids flew open and I had to take several deep and gasping breaths. I was covered from head to toe in a cold sweat. My heart was thundering in my chest, as if it had sensed the presence of the end and was determined to outrace it, to take flight...

Shakily, I began to walk again. I tried not to think about it. Instead I breathed in the chilly scent of change and kept my eyes focused straight ahead on the pale and featureless street before me.

Then, a flash of color in my peripheral vision caught my eye.

My gaze flickered reluctantly towards the unusual sight and abruptly my feet halted in their tracks as I stared at the source of the color.

It was a flower, caught between the iron bars of one of the gates that fronted a nearby apartment building. It was a deep, vivid red and shaped like a seven-pointed star. A poinsettia.

Something stirred in me and hesitantly, I drew closer. I stretched out a hand and stroked one of its crimson leaves. It felt like velvet against my skin. My favorite flower.

A rush of inexplicable emotion surged in me: happiness, sorrow, anger...love.

I did not know why I felt the way I did. I didn't know why my heart began to beat like a drum, impossibly fast in my chest.

Gingerly, I untwisted the flower from between the gate's bars. To my shock, I noticed that what looked like a piece of long red string was tied to its stem. Again, another surge of emotion threatened to overwhelm me and my heart pounded harder than ever, except this time from fear.

What was wrong with me? I tried to steady my shaking hands as I touched it. It felt like plain wool. Nothing to be afraid of.

Frowning, I tugged at the string and another loop of red came into sight, coiled on the ground. I saw now that the string seemed to stretch on endlessly along the sidewalk, taking a path that detoured from my usual route home.

I hesitated. I knew that to follow it would be a very stupid idea, not to mention even dangerous...and yet...

I looked down at the glowing red flower in my hands.

Then, wrapping the wool around my wrist as I walked, I began to follow the path of the string.

A quiet sort of desperation was beginning to build in me as I walked, clutching the thread as though I were a blind man clinging to his only hope of sight. It was as if I had never woken up from my nightmare last night. I was lost amidst this terrible darkness; I needed to be found.

But who would find me here?

The string that I had coiled around my wrist had become thicker; one half of a set of manacles. And still I followed it, until I found myself in an abandoned, grey street.

It was a street that was a replica of all the others I'd walked past on my way here. Rows of apartment buildings lined up on the side of the road, worn down and dilapidated, the dark gray of the bricks of which it was made only a few shades darker than the sky above. It was utterly deserted, save for the occasional stray that lurked around the edges, and the lamp posts that adorned the streets were flickering on and off.

I doubted whether anyone would willingly choose to come to such a dreary place. Yet as I followed the red thread up to one of the buildings, I stopped because I was wrong.

There was a young man there. He was sitting on the stairs that led up to the front door of the building. His head was bowed and at my distance I could only tell that he was dark haired and pale.

I wasn't following the thread anymore. Like gravity, I was being pulled towards this strange boy until I found myself directly in front of him, only a few feet away. He was wearing a plain black suit that only served to highlight the monotony of his surroundings; the only color I saw on him was the red burst of the string he held twisted between his fingers. I did not need to confirm that it was the end of the piece I had wrapped around my wrist.

He looked up then and I noticed for the first time that he was very good looking. This did not surprise me, for some reason. His eyes were a very dark grey, the color of storm clouds. They met and then held my own with an intensity that was almost ferocious. I stared back, and for a long time we both said nothing; merely looked, unsmiling, at the other.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and it was as if some spell had been broken; color flooded my cheeks and I took a step back. The boy's eyes followed the movement.

"Excuse me," I said hesitantly, "but I have, er, your string."

He said nothing for a long time but I could feel his gaze grow heavier on my face, as if it were a physical weight. Finally he said in a voice so low it was barely a murmur, "Thank you."

I should have felt relieved when he broke his silence but if anything I felt more uncomfortable. It wasn't necessary an unpleasant feeling; it felt like I was shivering, shaking in my skin.

His eyes locked with mine as he spoke again. "It's about time what was mine returned to me."

He seemed to weigh each word carefully as he said it. Yet for some reason his tone struck a wrong chord in me and I replied testily, "Maybe if you didn't leave your knitting all over the street, it'd come back to you sooner."

The young man's lips curved upwards into a slow smile. "Perhaps."

I stared at him. "Have..." I began uncertainly, "...have we met before?"

His smile vanished as though it had been wiped from his face. "Do you think so?" He said quietly.

"It's just..." I struggled with myself for a moment, "...never mind."

I forced myself to turn away; I had barely taken a few steps when the boy called out, "You're still tied to me."

It felt as though I had been struck in the chest; I whirled around and gasped, "What did you say?"

With an unreadable expression, he gestured towards the red string that still connected us both. I breathed again and a dull ache began to throb somewhere near my heart.

"Oh," I said, wishing that I didn't feel so stupidly disappointed. I made to remove it but the boy interrupted me.

"It's alright," he said. He pulled out a pair of gleaming scissors from his pocket and trapped the string between their blades, ready to sever them.

"Wait!" The cry flew from my lips before I had registered it and he looked up in surprise. My heart was beating impossibly fast in my chest, flying almost and I did not know why I was stopping this strange boy from severing the only connection I had to him, nor why I was in agony as I had never been for years and years

(in the darkness)

His expression seemed to soften and his eyes darkened as he watched the conflict play along my face. He put down the scissors.

"Don't you trust me, Ariadne?" he murmured.

Why was I not surprised that he knew my name? I stared at him desperately, seeking and beseeching for the answer to a long forgotten question, a half remembered dream. He met my gaze unflinchingly and slowly, I nodded.

His eyes never left my own, even as the scissors flashed silver in the weak sunlight-

SNIP.

-and both the thread and the darkness fell away.

A million colors. A hundred skies. A handful of faces. The fragmented pieces of my dreaming in the darkness rejoined and fused and burned so brilliantly in my mind that I staggered back.

Angerlovefearhopedesperation hatelonelinesslonginglovelov e

Where did one end and the other begin?

And then I realized that it did not matter, nothing mattered now, because I was standing in front of the only thing, the only person in the world that did.

My heart flew again.

I stared at him speechlessly and it was like the mask shifted, or my eyes cleared: the handsome, unfamiliar face of the stranger fell away and was replaced by the weary and stern features of the one that I had once loved so well.

Slowly, he stood up and descended down the stairs until he finally stopped in front of me, separated only by a few feet.

"Tom," I whispered. It was hard to speak; infinite questions threatened to spill off my tongue at any minute and I was made mute by their clamor. In the end, I could only croak, "How?"

"Time," he replied softly and I stilled as the sound seemed to reverberate in the air around us. "You were right about Daedalus' theory, Ariadne."

"I don't understand," I said.

He had expected this; he began, "When you broke your wand-"

"How did you...?" I stopped myself and Tom continued.

"-the Strand of Time that was in it rejoined with your broken one. But that wasn't all, was it?" His eyes bored into my own. "You destroyed your Fate."

"I broke the loop," I whispered.

"And so those whose Fates were entangled with your own were lost also."

I stared at him; what he was saying was barely registering. The cold wind whipped around us and I pushed my hair away from my face as I said uncertainly, "But...you're here."

He looked at me for a long time before he answered. "Yes, I am," He said softly. "It seems I am still tied to you."

His words skittered through my mind and suddenly I was reliving my long nightmare of a black prison and the mute, voiceless words that had been spoken there.

_I borrowed Time from another and gave it to you, at your end. A minute._

"Time," I whispered. "It was you. It was your Time that the Keeper...borrowed..."

And then all the awful implications that followed the though crashed into me; I remembered my torture and torment and years upon years spent in the infinite nothing and _black_ and I gasped out wildly, "The darkness-"

"I know, Ariadne," Riddle said. I stared at him and he gave me a hollow smile. "I know."

It was agony again. To know that he had suffered the same fate as I- to be alone and _gone_, without the blessing of knowing that it was by choice that he had ended up in the sea of perpetual and inexhaustible nothingness, like I did- it destroyed me. I wanted to erase it from his memory, bleach it out, protect him from remembering the awful fate that that been dealt to him by my doing-this hideous end that he had not deserved.

"I didn't want to hurt you," I whispered and my voice cracked with strain, "I thought I could undo it all. I am so sorry."

He said nothing; he merely looked at me. I could understand if he chose to leave me now, after all I had done to him. But I owed him the truth if nothing else and if he really were leaving again, I didn't want him to go without knowing about the poor, foolish girl that had truthfully and desperately loved him once upon a time.

"I was born in 1993," I said in a rush and a crease formed between his brows, "I attend a public school where I am a mediocre student with no special talents at all. I used to play the cello but I was so bad at it that I pulled out after a year. My mum was a pharmacist and my dad was a photographer and they were murdered three years ago by your future self. I'm not a witch!" I burst out and I hated myself for the tears that were pooling behind my eyes as I spoke the words that condemned me out loud, "I'm a Muggle, I've been a Muggle for nearly all my life and I am so, so sorry for hurting you as cruelly as I did when I left-"

"Enough," Tom said, and I fell silent, my breathing ragged. He was frowning as he looked at me and I feared that I had tested his patience too far- I half expected him to turn on the spot and vanish but he only continued to look at me with a slightly frustrated expression. Then he said quietly, "You never asked me what I saw in the Second Locket."

I was thrown off by his abrupt change of topic. I stared at him, not knowing what to say.

"You didn't want to know," Tom said shrewdly.

Still unsure, I said nothing and he sighed. He walked towards me and stopped when only a foot of space lay between us. I wanted to step back but his gaze trapped me where I was.

"I was in the darkness for so long," he said quietly. "I had a lot of time to think." His eyes bored into mine. "I thought about you."

My heart was pounding in my chest. I swallowed hard and thought, because it would have broken my heart to say the words out loud, _You must hate me._

Riddle acknowledged the thought as though I had spoken it. "I was angry because I thought that you had betrayed me. And I could not come back because my Fate was gone and my Time was tied to yours." He hesitated. "You know what I fear. And I was trapped there, in my own hell. So yes, for a very long time I despised you." Tom paused again and it seemed to cost him a great effort to continue.

"I thought you were still alive, you see," he said quietly. "That you had sentenced me to death as I had heard you had once planned.

"I asked the Keeper to bring me back. When he said I could not return, I asked him why. And then...he told me that you had gone too.

"I..." He seemed to flounder for a minute as he searched for the right words, "...lost myself."

It was barely a whisper. I remembered how it was in the darkness, slipping so easily into dreams that lasted centuries...how I had forced myself to remember, and to exist. It had been difficult...so difficult...

"It was grief that brought me back," he said suddenly and his eyes took on a deadened, haunted look as if something had closed behind them. Horror washed through me and when he next spoke, it was a whisper. "I realized then that death was...it was nothing."

Wasn't that like something his elder, red eyed self had told me once? Between the one who leaves and the one that was left behind...it would always be the latter that hurt more, for him.

It was different for me. I had to appreciate how much strength it took to leave...because it was harder, infinitely harder to come back. I remembered the choice I had been given in the darkness... and how it had taken every bit of courage I had not to stay in the peace and merciful silence of the black prison.

"I knew you would come back," Tom said quietly as though he had read my mind. "Just as I knew that I would find you again."

"But _why_?" I croaked desperately. "Why would you want to...after all I have done...?"

"You fool," he said gently and my heart took off again, pounding against the inside of my chest, "Surely you have realized it by now."

I shut my eyes tightly and suddenly I was in a dusty, dimly lit room and I was staring into the red eyes of the man I had sentenced to death. I opened them and the grey of the boy that had found me replaced the memory.

"Please," I whispered.

He understood my unspoken request; he studied me for a long time. Then, very quietly, "I love you, Ariadne."

It was so honest, the way he said it. Honest and so devastatingly simple- as if he were stating a common truth that he had known all his life-that it made my head spin. Yet as I stared desperately into the stormy grey of his eyes I could not doubt him, not when the truth looked so plainly out of them.

A new pain bloomed in my chest and I began to cry in earnest, turning away from him.

"Why are you crying?" Tom sounded slightly alarmed and he stepped closer but I pulled away.

"Because you'll go," I moaned through my hands. "You're Lord Voldemort. You want Horcruxes and war and-"

"I want you." His voice was fierce.

I made a noise that was half laugh, half sob. "I'm tired of seeing the people I love die."

He was silent for a minute.

"My Horcruxes are gone," he said finally and a strange expression flickered over his face.

I turned back to him. "Gone?"

"You destroyed your Fate," he repeated and there was a faraway look in his eyes, "so it was if everything that we went through never happened."

My eyes widened. "So-"

He reached out and took one of the hands hanging limply at my side and pressed it to his chest, over his heart. "All me," he said quietly. "Just me."

I was mute again; I could feel his heart beating underneath my hand, almost as fast as mine. My breath caught in my throat and his gaze flickered down.

"I have hurt you more times than I could possibly atone for," he said the same, quiet tone, "I do not deny it. And I can understand if you choose not to forgive me for all I've done to you and yours." He hesitated and a rare flash of uncertainty flit across his face. All his charm seemed to have abandoned him and it was with a growing sense of wonder that I watched him struggle for his next words. "But, if you would have me..."

Perhaps we were, all of us, tied by the invisible force that connected and intertwined lives together like a multitude of tangled threads. Perhaps suffering and loss and pain were inevitable after all in this world, as were hope and happiness and love. Or perhaps it was only our decisions that really mattered in the end, the choices that could hurt and heal.

Did it matter, though?

I loved him. And so for me there was no choice; because it would always be him that I would choose, in the end.

I wiped the tears from my cheeks and looked up at him. He was still watching me with a trace of uncharacteristic anxiety. "Tom," I said, "What do you see in the Second Locket?"

He stared at me. Then slowly he pulled me closer to him, closing the distance between us. Although his hands kept a firm grip over my own, they were cautious and his brows pulled together.

"Ari," he said and there was an edge of panic in his voice, "I don't know what you... if I can change. I am who I am and I'm not like you, I'm not good-" He struggled for words and I had never seen him so him so agitated, "I'm still angry. I still have so much hatred and resentment and-and _rage,_ and it is something that cannot simply be erased overnight-"

"I know, I know," I murmured fretfully. His desperate eyes met my own and shyly I reached up to trace the jagged scar at his neck. He shivered.

"But..." I said hesitantly, "...we have Time, don't we?" I managed a small smile. "All of what is ours. And well, if you'll have me..."

Tom seemed to struggle with himself in a way that was somehow incredibly human. He tried several times to say something else but he appeared to abandon the attempt for he simply stared down at me instead with an expression that could have been frightening.

"I love you," he said again and this time it was a promise, for all the times that he had hurt me in the past and for all the times he would in the future that was as dark and unpredictable as it was measureless and blissful, because that was the best he could give me right now. No matter what happened, that would never change. A promise that would last until the end of our time...and perhaps even after.

My fickle voice had left me again and so I speechlessly squeezed the hand that was wrapped around mine, trying to convey that yes: I know, I understand you, I love you.

He appeared to comprehend my silent communication; his eyebrows drew further together in surprise. Then the tense lines around his eyes and mouth relaxed and he flashed me a hesitant, dizzying smile that I had never before seen on him; it lit up his whole face. On impulse, I threw my arms around his neck; his own closed solidly around my waist and then we were spinning like a pair of fools in the chilly air that was made electric by the oncoming storm. I was whooping, laughing loudly and with wild abandon because I could not possibly contain the joy that threatened to explode out of me any longer.

And just when I thought that I would simply die of happiness, Tom stopped, letting my feet touch the ground once more. I looked up at him quizzically; I caught the flicker of amusement in his grey eyes. Then suddenly his mouth was on mine and he was kissing me with a force that nearly swept me off my feet again.

And when at last he pulled away, I blurted out breathlessly, "_This_ is what you saw in the Second Locket?"

He smirked at my slightly cross-eyed expression and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear.

"Third time's a charm," he muttered, and, in the knowledge that we both had tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow until the end of our lives, he kissed me again.

And even though thunder clapped ominously above us and we were both freezing and I could barely breathe from how tightly he was holding me I thought this was the most perfect way to start the first day of our hard won, finite, but utterly appealing,

Time.

**A/N: There is one more chapter left after this, the Epilogue. It's about as long as this chapter and it ties up a lot of loose ends of the story.**

**In regards to A & T's experience in the "darkness": it's not precisely death that I was trying to convey (as I tend to have a more optimistic view of that particular aspect) but a sort of limbo.**

**Here is a basic recap of what happened: in 1945, Ari destroyed her Fate thread by breaking the cycle and reached the end of her severed Time strand. Therefore, she died. But because the tempus strand in her broken wand rejoined with her Time (making it whole once more), she could not yet die properly as she still had this time left. So she was stuck in a sort of limbo, the "darkness".**

**She arrived back in 2010 because it was at that point in time that her Fate and Time split and she began to follow solely the Fate thread. But now that her Fate is gone, she follows solely the Time Strand left from this point.**

**For Tom, because his Fate was so entwined with hers, both his Thread and timeline was destroyed when she broke the cycle. But because the Keeper tied his Time to Ari's, he ended up in the limbo as well. But he could not come back unless Ariadne decided to come back and follow Time once more (as his Strand is entwined with hers, courtesy of the Keeper).**

**TL;DR: Ari and Tom's Strands of Time are entwined around one another, and they both follow this time from the point in 2010 that is mixture of Tom and Ari's present. That is, the wizarding world and the Muggle world.**

**Furthermore, because the wizarding world exists now in their present, and it was the timeline of Fate that Ari screwed up while the Time Strand remained untouched, they are now following the original timeline of J. K. Rowling's series- eleven to twelve years after the Battle of Hogwarts.**

**God, this is hard to explain. This is one of the main reasons it took me so long to plan this chapter- I had to balance the romance and explanations. In the end, I decided to lean more towards the former, haha.**

I hope this ending met your expectations! I really do have to thank all of you for your support and the overwhelmingly positive response I got for the last chapter! In particular, there are some reviewers that have stuck around since the beginning:

**NY GE Pyromaniac: **Oh my God- you-_you-_God, what can I say, apart from the fact that you have to be one of the nicest and most supportive people I have ever met online and that you give the best advice regarding college and friends and whatnot…Your reviews and PMs always make me smile. Thank you, thank you so much and hopefully I'll see you in the land down under some time!

**phoenixqueen15: **I cannot begin to even say how much your words meant to me…it makes me incredibly, dizzyingly happy to know that enjoys both the writing and the story of my fic. Thank you so much for your continual love and support!

**dogsrock101: **Until now, I didn't realise that my writing could really convey the emotions and feelings that I wanted. There really is no substitute for the real thing and I always thought that my words fell a little flat when I tried to put a little more life in my characters. So thank you, thank you for letting me know that I succeeded, in this little story of mine.

**FadedSunset: **Haha, I'm glad that you appreciate all the planning. Honestly, when I first started I didn't think that it would take as much energy and effort as it did…But I have to thank you for continuing to read this, and your reassurances that my characters were, well, in character. This was my first fanfic it's such a relief to know that everyone at least resembled their canon counterparts.

**katchile94: **I'll never forget your review about the idea of someone being born evil; you were completely spot on with what I was trying to convey and you made me so glad when I read that the romance was at least somewhat realistic. That was my biggest fear, writing this story.

**And finally, the people who gave me my first reviews when this story was only a short, 4000 word chapter:**

**adeline mcintosh**

**CacklingBlasphemy**

**KooleyAid**

I haven't heard from you guys in the while, but your words inspired me to continue this and were an insane comfort to my fourteen-year old self all those years ago.

I'm sorry if I missed my other reviewers in this list: that doesn't lessen the gratitude and happiness I feel towards you guys. Especially all you lurkers- the fact that people even _want_ to read my story is just…mind-blowing.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter: remember, **there is still one more to go.**

See you at the end, guys!


	27. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **This is the last disclaimer I'll ever write.

**A/N: **Hello everyone. Please pardon the lateness; I wanted to write a really good final chapter and also…well, I guess it was just slightly harder to let go of this story than I thought. Hope you enjoy!

**Pretending To Live**

* * *

**Epilogue**

_More than one year later_

" ...just wanted to thank you again for what you did last week, I don't know where I would be now without you..."

"It's quite alright, Albert, really," Tom said wearily.

"You shouldn't be so modest," a stately witch wearing a pince nez and a stern expression said reprovingly. "Not many people could have gotten out of a situation like that with their lives, even those who have been training for years."

Tom was too tired to argue with her and so he resorted to his favorite 'dirty trick', as Ariadne liked to call it, and flashed her a charming smile. She blinked, momentarily dazed, and he took the chance to extricate himself from the crowd of Aurors, who were laughing and joking in the room. Several of them clapped him on the back as he passed them; one of them forced a glass of Firewhiskey in his hand as he left the chatter behind him and headed for one of the minor departments on his level.

He ducked as the occasional paper airplane emblazoned with the words 'Ministry of Magic' zoomed through the air and walked through a pair of heavy oak doors that emerged into a cluttered open area divided into cubicles. He spared a glance at the sign pinned to the nearest cubicle that read: _Auror Headquarters_.

He picked a familiar path through the maze of low walls until he came to a particular cubicle at the very back of the area where a man with curly blond hair was sitting with his feet up on his desk. He was throwing darts at a picture of a Quidditch team pinned up on the opposite wall; a half completed report and an upturned inkwell lay neglected on his desk.

Tom leaned by the cubicle's entrance and spared a lazy knock that caused the man to fumble his last shot; it hit the wall beside the poster.

The man turned around in his seat, taking his legs off the desk. "Tom!" He said in surprise. "What're you doing down here? Why aren't you up celebrating with the others?"

Tom set down the glass of Firewhiskey and folded his arms. "Celebrating what, Garrett?" He muttered moodily.

Garrett grinned. "I heard about what happened last week. Good thing you were there, can you believe with all the protective enchantments we've got on the interrogation cells that lot we caught still managed to escape?"

Tom shrugged and Garrett laughed at his expression and took a drink from the glass he had set down. "I keep on telling you this, but you need to loosen up, mate."

Tom sighed, for this was not the first time he had heard this, but the only concession he made to his request was to loosen his tie slightly. He flicked his wand and a thick stack of paper appeared out of nowhere and landed on Garrett's desk with a heavy thud. "Here's the report on those Crushing Cabinets you asked me about. As to your suggestion, I think it may be possible except in this case the victim did not actually step into the cabinet before she died..."

Garrett swore loudly. "You're making everyone else in this department look really bad." He reached under his desk and pulled out a large parcel that appeared to be filled with cauldron cakes. He held it up. "Want one? The missus sent them to me this morning."

Riddle took one and the two chewed in a companionable silence until the elder man decided to break it. "So, tell me why you haven't joined us in the Auror Office yet."

Tom snorted and Garrett amended, "Well, officially."

He sighed again. He had begun working in the Ministry of Magic almost half a year ago, in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, much to Ariadne's chagrin. He had started out in the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects but it seemed his natural gravitation towards Dark objects was inevitable as he had found himself straying more into the field of curse breaking and tracking down Dark magic than anything else. Particularly in the last couple of months, the Auror Office had begun requesting him specifically for assignments and lately, he had suddenly found himself tracking down Dark wizards rather than objects.

The irony was not lost on him.

"I've told you," Tom said heavily, "I just don't believe I'm the right person for the job."

"What a load of rubbish," Garrett replied in his typically blunt manner that both amused and exasperated him. "Richardson and Hodges would be in St Mungo's now if it weren't for you."

"I don't..." Tom said slowly, thinking it over, "...have the right sort of... background."

Garrett frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Never mind." Tom heaved a sigh and incinerated his crumpled cake wrapper with his wand.

Wisely, Garrett changed the subject. "Gladys down in level six fancies you, you know," he said lightly.

"Really." Tom's voice was flat.

"Yeah, but I told her that you were taken." The blond man grinned at him and tipped him a conspiratory wink.

Tom remained silent and not for the first time that day, he thought about Ariadne. The Hogwarts Express would be arriving at Platform 9 and 3/4 this afternoon for the Christmas holidays but he knew she would not be on it, for she had written to him last week saying that she had to stay behind to study for her upcoming final exams. Tom understood of course, but still, he could not help but be slightly disappointed at the news...

"She goes to Hogwarts, right?" Garrett said. "Your girl?"

Without realizing it, a slow smile began to spread across his face at the man's words. He imagined the look on her face if she had heard it herself and his grin grew wider. "Yes, she does."

"See, loads better," Garrett said approvingly. "Makes me almost think that you aren't secretly planning to murder us all in our sleep."

Tom laughed outright at this. "You know..." He said slowly, "...lately I have been considering the idea. Of becoming an Auror," he added when the other looked blank.

Garrett seemed about to reply but was interrupted by a slow, deep voice.

"I'm glad to hear it."

They both looked round to see a bald black wizard with a thin gold hoop in one ear watching them.

"Minister," Tom murmured in greeting while Garrett yawned, "Morning Kingsley."

Kingsley Shacklebolt nodded his acknowledgement to the other Auror before he turned back to Tom. "You must be the Mr Riddle I've been hearing quite a lot about. You helped us out of a rather tight spot last week."

Tom nodded. Although he had long since gotten used to the idea, he was inwardly grateful that very few people knew that Lord Voldemort was once called Tom Riddle. Those that did were almost all of them dead by now, and those that remembered the clever, handsome student that had once been Head Boy over fifty years ago did not suspect what he had become in his later years...

"What are you doing down in the Detection Office?" Kingsley inquired.

"I'm a curse breaker," Tom replied. "I specialize in identifying and reversing Dark magic in cursed objects."

"And yet I hear you've been doing a lot of work here in the Auror Office."

Tom threw a sideways look at Garrett who shrugged. "Yes, as of late."

Garrett chimed in, "He helped us track down the Gardner twins from the Manchester murders, do you remember Kingsley? Ghastly pair."

"Why haven't you applied for training as an Auror?" Kingsley said, watching him closely. "You're more than eligible, from what I've seen in your school record."

Tom didn't pay much consideration to the compliment although it earned him a curious look from Garrett. "The thought has been beginning to cross my mind lately," he admitted.

"But?" Kingsley pressed.

Flashes of the previous year ran through his mind: how he had shattered all the mirrors in his apartment by accident when he had lost his temper, how he had brutally injured a man and how he had nearly killed another in a fit of rage.

Then the memories shifted to Ariadne; Ariadne calmly picking up the shards of glass on the floor; Ariadne erasing the man's memories as she had brought him to St Mungo's; Ariadne dabbing the blood away from his face in the silence of their apartment. She never seemed to blame him, which was foolish, and she trusted him, which was even more so.

It was difficult, fighting against his natural inclination towards the Dark-but he was trying, really. And the reason was simple: he loved her. Once it would have seemed a pathetic justification, a worthless argument to him- but that was a long time ago and from a mind very different from his own.

He loved her. But he couldn't stop himself from disappointing her when he slipped, or hurting her, although she never admitted it to him. So to even think about becoming an Auror, to fight against the Dark when so much of it was still inside of him, to volunteer to protect others when he couldn't even protect the one he cared about most from himself...was that not the worst kind of hypocrisy?

Tom kept his silence and Kingsley stared at him contemplatively.

"I don't know about you," he said slowly. "Who you are or what you've done. But you saved people's lives and that is not something they will forget. And if you're willing to put in the hours and the work, then we could use someone like you on the team."

Tom regarded him with a mixture of surprise and disbelief.

"I'll consider your offer," he said finally. "Minister."

As Kingsley left, Garrett grinned at him. "Looks like we'll be seeing you a lot more down here, then eh, Riddle?"

Tom ignored him as he watched the Minister's retreating figure. And, not for the first or the last time that day, he thought about Ariadne.

888

The train hissed behind me as I stepped off it and onto the platform. I sighed with relief and peered through the smoky vapour coming from the scarlet train, looking around at the crowd of people gathered around as they waited for their loved ones.

"See you around, Ari." One of my friends coming up behind me patted me on the back as he headed over to his family waiting by the sides and I grinned.

"Yeah, Merry Christmas mate-" Another one of my classmates said as they ran past, their luggage in tow. I waved at them with a similar greeting and shrugged the strap of my bag on my shoulder as I left the platform, slipping quietly through the crowd and through the barrier that opened out into a plain brick wall between platforms nine and ten.

I was grateful I hadn't packed much with me as I weaved through the clusters of people that packed the station; it only would have been a hassle to lug my trunk around. Once I was out, I breathed in the cold, wintry air and watched my breath make spirals of fog. As I walked, my eye was caught by a nearby stall that held an array of brightly colored flowers and I stopped.

"How much for them?" I asked, pointing at a bouquet of deep red poinsettias. I bought them and tucked them carefully under my arm as I continued to walk until I had found a relatively deserted area behind a few of the older shops. Then, wrapping my scarf more tightly around me and readjusting the flowers in my arms, I turned on the spot and disappeared.

I reappeared in front of a small, iron wrought gate covered in powdery white snow; I pushed it open and trod slowly through a familiar path that weaved through the rows upon rows of grey and white rectangular stones. I stopped when I reached the two that stood quietly side by side towards the back.

I knelt down in the thin snow and nestled the bouquet between the headstones; the red of the Christmas flowers gleamed like rubies against the stark white.

"Hi, mum," I said quietly. "Hi, dad. Merry Christmas."

I heard the bells of the church nearby begin to ring for the early mass and I watched the people trickle through the doors. Within minutes, the faint strains of Christmas carols echoed through the air.

"I'm sorry I haven't visited lately," I said. "I guess I'm pretty rotten at these sorts of things."

I stayed there in the snow until I felt my legs begin to grow numb. I stood up and rubbed my raw knees absently-of all times to wear a skirt- as I flicked a glance towards the church. It looked like service was already over. I cast one last glance at the two stones.

"Don't worry, okay?" I said. "I'm fine now. And don't be mad at... him. He's different. He's..." I hesitated. "He's kinder. And he makes me happy and well...I love him."

It was strange how warm I suddenly felt even in the frosty weather. Even though it had been almost two years now since he had found me in that grey street, I hadn't gotten used to the idea that I could even say such a thing. The very idea that there existed someone that I could say that to, in the way that I meant it...it was both frightening and comforting. I smiled into the scarf I had wrapped around my face and bent down to rearrange the bouquet between my parents' graves one last time.

"I miss you," I said and I turned on the spot again, the telltale _crack!_ of my disappearance masked by the ringing of the church bells.

Once the suffocating blackness lifted, I found myself in dingy, shabby street some ways away from the old-fashioned red telephone box that was the visitor's entrance to the Ministry of Magic. I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me in a routine gesture and removed the phone from its handset that looked like had been half wrenched from the wall.

"6-2-4-4-2," I muttered as I put in the numbers using the rotating dial and waited.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business." said a cool female voice that sounded as though the person was standing right next to me.

"Ariadne de Lioncourt, I'm just visiting," I said into the handset and then added hurriedly, "But, er...could you not tell anyone about that just yet, it's kind of a surprise."

"Thank you," the voice said and a small rectangular badge popped out of the metal chute that normally would return change. "Visitor, please take the badge and attach it to the front of your robes."

I picked up; it read: _Ariadne de Lioncourt, Surprise Visit._

Rolling my eyes, I pinned it to the front of my sweater and waited for the female voice to finish speaking.

"Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium."

The booth jolted and then began to descend down into the earth; I leaned against the windows and waited until it finally shuddered to a halt.

The door opened and I stepped out onto the polished black floor of a vast hall. Fireplaces adorned the gleaming walls at intervals; occasionally green flames would erupt in them as a wizard or witch would emerge. High above, a brilliant blue ceiling decorated with changing golden symbols twinkled down. In the center of the hall was a gold fountain that threw light against the walls.

I blinked around in surprise. This was emptiest I had ever seen the Atrium: there were only a few groups of people scattered around the hall as opposed to the hundreds I was normally used to seeing bustling around, and a lone person at on the edge of the fountain. Then again, most people didn't like to work during holiday season...I scowled slightly.

I made my way to the end of the hall until I reached a desk to the left of the golden gates underneath a sign that read _Security_.

"Happy Christmas, Eric," I said to the poorly shaven wizard in peacock blue robes sitting behind the desk. He looked up from his _Daily Prophet_ and grunted.

"Haven't seen you in a while," he said gruffly, pulling out a thin, golden instrument and waving it negligently over me.

"I've been at school," I reminded him as I handed over my wand.

He grunted again as he dropped it onto the set of brass scales on his desk. It began to vibrate and a piece of parchment popped out of its base.

"Alder, ten and a quarter inches, dragon heartstring core, been in use for two years," he said in a bored voice without looking at the parchment.

I made a non committal noise and took it back from him. Inwardly, I recalled my shock almost two years ago when I had discovered that I was still a witch; I had almost fainted. Then again it should have been obvious, I thought wryly, because I still had some of the First Locket's magic in my blood, didn't I? Even though in this present, the Twin Lockets no longer existed...

Tom had brought me to Ollivander's almost immediately (although he had not gone into the shop with me, for his wand was all too recognizable) and as if to confirm my most desperate of hopes, a wand had chosen me. It was slightly longer than what I was used to and its core was nothing extraordinary but nevertheless, my delight could not have been greater; I was a witch, I could go back to Hogwarts, I could stay with him...

"Is this proof enough?" Tom had asked me. "That you belong here with me?"

And because I hadn't been able to speak past the lump in my throat, I had only stretched up to my toes to kiss him.

"Are you going through?" The wizard asked, breaking me out of my reverie. He nodded at the golden gates to his left.

"No, I'll just wait in the Atrium. Cheers."

Unpinning the visitor's badge from my sweater-I must have had at least a dozen of these by now-I walked over to the golden fountain and tipped my head back to look up at it. Shimmering water surrounded a group of statues: a wizard, a beautiful witch, a centaur, a fierce goblin and a house elf. Jets of water gushed out from the ends of the wizard and witch's wands, from the arrow of the centaur and from the hat and ears of the goblin and the house elf. But what I had always liked most about it was that the motley group stood in a circle, facing outward. The wizard side by side with the goblin, the witch between the house elf and the centaur, as equals.

I glanced down at the gleaming bronze plaque at its base. _This fountain stands in memory of those, be they human or not, that had been lost during the Battle of Hogwarts. May it serve as a reminder of our own humility and the importance of the bonds of friendship that withstand even the darkest of hours._

Below that, it read: _Commissioned by H. J. Potter, R. B. Weasley and H. J. Granger._

Even further down: _All proceeds from the Fountain of Magical Brethren will be given to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries._

I dug in my pocket and tossed in a Galleon, making a wish as I normally did whenever I visited. It was the same wish every time.

I was about to sit down by the fountain's edge when I noticed that I wasn't the only one doing so; I peered past the faint curtain of water at the man across. His back was to me but nevertheless my heart stopped dead in my chest.

Hardly daring to believe it and fighting the excitement that was beginning to trickle in just in case I was bitterly disappointed, I began to walk slowly around the fountain until the man's pointed profile came into view.

Then sorrow and joy rushed through me in equal measure and I reached a hand into my pocket and tossed in another handful of gold into the fountain on the spot. I sat down, some distance away from the man; he spared me a cold glance. At this, I completely lost my head; all self control disintegrated and I sidled up so that I was sitting right next to him.

"Hey, old man," I said with an irrepressible grin, "Don't you know you're not supposed to loiter around here?"

He actually looked around to check that I was addressing him. "Excuse me?" He said incredulously, his cold eyes narrowing.

"You're blocking the view," I told him. This was an utter lie, as the golden fountain towered behind us in the quiet hall.

He drew himself up in his most haughty manner as he looked down at me with ill disguised contempt. "And you?" He said with a sneer that brought back a thousand memories. "I think the dirt on my shoes have more of a right to be here than _you_."

I chuckled delightedly. "Ouch." I glanced down at his gleaming black shoes and compared them to my scuffed Mary Janes. "Bet they must have cost a patch, huh?"

"More than you can afford, I expect." He threw an imperious glance over my clothes, tossing his white-blond hair back slightly.

I snorted. "You're probably right."

He frowned at me, apparently irritated at my lack of insult. "Do you know who I am?" He asked impatiently.

I wanted to ask him the same thing. Instead, I fought a smile and said cheekily, "Some strange bloke who gets off on insulting teenage girls?"

His pale face flushed and now he looked seriously angry. "Why you impertinent-"

I couldn't help it; I laughed and the man looked at me as though I had lost my mind. "Sorry! I don't mean to be a prat, it's just...it's good to be out of school."

"Hard to tell with someone so obviously uneducated as you are," he said snidely. Then he paused and said out of an unwilling curiosity, "You go to Hogwarts?"

I beamed at him.

"In my final year," I said proudly. "I'm just coming down to stay with my...boyfriend for the holidays. He graduated last year." The memory came to me with a hint of sourness.

Even though I had technically been seventeen two years ago- perhaps even older if I had counted the years I had spent in the darkness when I had died- my birth certificate said that I had been born in 1993, which meant I was still sixteen on paper. I had to redo my whole sixth year again while Tom had continued on to his seventh. He had flat out refused to help me on this as I 'needed all the magical education I could get'.

Even now I had to stop my exasperation from showing through. What rubbish; I knew that he just took some weird and inexplicable delight in being older than me. It was irritating, especially now that I rarely saw him during the school year except for the holidays. I brightened slightly. "That's why I'm here actually, I want to surprise him once he finishes work."

"Did I ask for your life story?" The man said, looking thoroughly bad tempered.

I smiled at him. "Do you have kids?"

He frowned. "What?"

"Well...you're old."

"I am not-" he began hotly and then caught my amused look. His flush grew more pronounced, as I remembered it did when he got angry. "I don't have to listen to this, especially not from some mad bag lady-"

" 'Bag lady'?" I said, amused. "Good Lord, you must be ancient."

The man swore and made to get up; panicking, I caught his sleeve and pulled him back down.

"Sorry! Sorry, don't go okay?" I pleaded, forcing him back to his seat.

"You're insane!" He yelled as he struggled to get out of my grip, but to no avail. Desperation made me surprisingly strong.

But when he pulled out his wand with his free hand I let go of him immediately. I yelped another apology and he stared at me.

"I guess I am, but I'm sorry, I'm just- look-" I struggled for words, torn between wanting to tell him the truth and maintaining some semblance of sanity, "I am just really, really happy, okay? You have no idea-it's so- Christmas is great-" I sighed and gave up. "Never mind. What were you saying about your children?"

"I wasn't." He said coldly.

"Are they at Hogwarts? How old are they?"

"He," The man said in the same cold tone although I could detect a bit of smugness and pride lingering just under the surface, "is five. He'll be starting in a few years...that is, if I don't send him to Durmstrang instead," he muttered as an aside.

I wrinkled my nose. "What house d'you think he'll be in?"

"Unless he wants to be disowned, Slytherin." He caught the face that I made and said haughtily, "You're a Gryffindor, I expect."

"Yeah. You needn't look so impressed," I said, amused but pleasantly surprised that he didn't say anything other than the mute disdain that rolled off him in waves. "You know, I sort of pegged you for a Gryffindor myself."

"You're joking." He looked insulted.

"But Slytherin's a great house as well," I said lightly and surprise flickered over the familiar but aged features. "I think though, that he'll do alright no matter where he's in," I mused.

"Better than me, anyway," he muttered darkly, although it was more to himself.

I remembered the boy I had once called my brother and I smiled. "You're alright, old man."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "If you want to see your boyfriend, you'd better leave now or you'll be too late."

I grinned at him. "It's never too late." I glanced behind him and nearly choked as I saw a stream of Ministry workers leaving the golden gates and heading straight for the fireplaces on the left hand side of the hall. I scanned the group but could not find the dark haired head I was looking for; I must have missed him. I swore. "Except on this occasion, just a little bit."

I jumped up from my seat while the man looked on forlornly. "I'll catch you around sometime, okay?"

"Doubt it," he muttered.

"Say hello to your family for me!" I yelled as I began running for the same fireplaces, the ones I technically wasn't supposed to use. As green flames burst all around me, I crossed my fingers and hoped that I caught him in time.

888

Harry yawned and Vanished the pile of scrolls on his desk. He stood up and stretched, stealing a glance at Fabian Prewett's watch. "I think I'm done for today, are you coming?"

"No, you go on ahead," Ron said, rubbing his eyes. Only his forehead was visible over the massive sheaf of paper in front of him. "I've still got all these files to sort out by today and Hermione will kill me if I leave it for another week..."

Harry laughed and put on his cloak while Ron watched him wistfully.

"You're still coming over for dinner, right?" He asked.

"Yeah, Ginny's bringing something. She'll be glad to come, Albus is still sick with the flu, what a nightmare..."

"See you, mate," Ron said glumly.

Halfway up back to the Atrium he met Kingsley; they exchanged brief greetings and began walking together in the same direction.

"Did you hear about what happened last week down in the Auror Office?" Kingsley said. "You were away then, bargaining with that nasty group of hags in Kenya."

"Yes, I have," he said, frowning. "How did the detainees manage to escape custody in the first place?"

"I had a talk with Richardson about that," Kingsley replied gravely. "He put a lot of people's lives at risk...if it weren't for that new curse breaker..."

Thoughtlessly Harry said, "Who?"

Kingsley smiled. "Yes, apparently they've been making good use of him down in the Auror Office. He's certainly talented...do keep an eye on him, would you Potter?"

"What's his name?"

"Riddle," he replied and Harry froze mid step. At the same time, Kingsley had stopped by his own accord and he didn't notice Harry's expression. "Ah, there he is over there."

He pointed and Harry automatically followed his hand to the two men walking out of the golden grille. One he recognized as Garrett Abernathy, one of the Aurors down in the Investigation Department and the other was someone he had only seen in the shining memories of a Pensieve and once, face to face, in the Chamber of Secrets.

Tom Riddle.

There was no mistaking it. It was as if he had emerged from a memory; he looked not a day over twenty. He was not the snake-like monstrosity that he had seen leave the great cauldron when he was fourteen; he was still dark eyed and handsome. Harry felt a cold block of horror slip into his gut.

Kingsley yawned. "I'd better get back down to the office, I still haven't dealt with all the complaints I've received from Level Three about those exploding cheese graters..." He gave a weary sigh and strode off, leaving Harry to stare at the enemy he had thought he had defeated nearly thirteen years ago.

He watched Riddle step into one of the fireplaces at the left hand side of the hall and vanish in a burst of green flame. Then he pulled out his wand and followed him.

When the ash and dust cleared, he stepped out of the fireplace and looked wildly around. He caught the tail of Riddle's cloak some ways away; he was standing on top of the open marble staircase that led out into the courtyard. He was talking to Garrett Abernathy; the other man clapped him on the back and Riddle smiled mechanically. Harry felt a swoop of hatred surge in him and he strode forwards, his wand raised-

"Tom!"

Both he and Riddle gave a start and turned towards the source of the voice; he saw a streak of dark green as a girl darted up the stairs and threw herself on him. Riddle's hands came up automatically to steady her and she gripped the back of his robes, holding on to him as though she would never let go.

Harry had expected Riddle to throw her off; he was stunned when instead he merely adjusted their positions so that she was balancing comfortably on her toes so that the two were still locked in their tight embrace. The girl was saying something into his ear and he thought he saw Riddle laugh.

Harry stared.

Eventually the two broke apart, turning so that Riddle's back was towards him. The girl's gaze strayed over his shoulder and landed on Harry. Their eyes met and hers widened infinitesimally.

She murmured something quickly into Riddle's ear and he turned around to face Harry as well. For a minute that felt like an eternity, green locked with the grey.

There was recognition there, Harry was sure of it. And his grip around his wand tightened.

888

There-_there_ he was! He was talking to another wizard on the marble steps; as I watched, the other man laughed and clapped him on the back. I thought I might have seen Tom roll his eyes. But he was smiling as he bid the other goodbye and although it was small I could tell it was genuine.

A fierce rush of pride ran through me and both my heart and my feet took off; I cried out his name as a warning and as he turned around I flung myself at him.

He staggered back but caught himself after a few steps; his arms wrapped around my waist to steady me.

"Ari?" He said and he sounded stunned. "What are you doing here? I thought you were staying at Hogwarts?"

"Surprise," I mumbled into his ear. I felt him sigh. Neither of us had moved from our positions and I wouldn't have had it any other way.

"You should have told me," he said disapprovingly, "I would have picked you up from King's Cross myself."

"That kind of contradicts the definition of 'surprise'," I pointed out and he sighed again but I felt his grip around my waist tighten. "How was work?"

"Interesting," he murmured. "Much more so than I would have thought."

I smiled into his shoulder but said nothing; he seemed to feel my amusement and said casually, "And you? How has your school year been so far, Ariadne?"

"Wonderful," I said unconvincingly. He didn't need to know that my grades in nearly every subject had taken a dramatic drop since he was no longer around to tutor me. "Top of every class, I am."

He laughed and much to my disappointment, pulled away, although he still yet held on to me. I tipped my head back to stare up into his face, examining the changes there that had been marked by the past year: he had grown taller, his hair slightly longer, his cheeks more hollow. But the dark grey of his eyes were the same and they anchored me there.

"I missed you," I said quietly.

"Yes, I got your Howlers," he said and he looked amused. But his eyes were warm as he twisted a lock of my hair around his fingers and bent his head down to touch mine.

And just like that, the whole world fell away and I was happy.

My eyes fluttered briefly shut; when I opened them they strayed somewhere over his shoulder and I froze.

"Tom..." I murmured.

He pulled away and followed the direction of my gaze to the man watching us some distance away. He was tall, with untidy black hair and a bespectacled, thin face. The wind blew suddenly and his hair shifted to reveal the lightning bolt scar cut into his forehead.

I reached down reflexively for Riddle's hand; he found mine and gripped it tightly in reassurance.

The man's eyes darted down to our clasped hands and he look momentarily startled. I noticed for the first time that his wand was out, although it dangled loosely at his side.

The pressure I put on Tom's hand doubled and he stroked soothing circles on the back of my own with his thumb. He was still looking in the man's direction.

They stared at one another for one long, unblinking moment. Then, slowly, Tom raised his free hand in a greeting.

Surprise and uncertainty flickered across the other man's face. I saw his fingers flex convulsively around the handle of his wand; I let out a cry of warning. The man's eyes dropped to mine and I saw the confusion there.

Please. I mouthed the word.

He frowned. His eyes darted back to Tom who still stood calmly beside me, his wand undrawn.

Then, after an agonizingly long moment, he gave a short, jerky nod.

I exhaled quietly and turned back to Tom who looked typically unconcerned; he spared one last glance in the man's direction before he pulled me gently along the marble steps. "So, where would you like to go?"

I sighed for his lack of worry but managed a weak grin. "I want to go home."

"Home," he echoed as if he had never heard the word in his life. "And where would that be?"

"Don't be cute," I said.

He raised his brows but the corners of his mouth tilted upwards. He offered me his arm and I took it with a smile. And together we turned on the spot and vanished.

888

Harry watched the two leave. He saw Riddle twirl his wand behind his back and produce a single scarlet flower to the girl who accepted both it and his arm with a smile before they disappeared.

He was unsure why he had not gone through with it. He wondered whether he would regret this moment in the future. The more he thought about it, the more his actions-or lack thereof- seemed increasingly stupid. Why hadn't he done anything?

And yet...

_Was_ he Voldemort? Harry held no doubt that it was Tom Riddle at least, for he knew those features from what he had seen in memories that did not belong to him. But his actions did not make sense; did not fit the boy he remembered nor the man he had defeated. He had never seen Riddle look that way at anyone before, a look that even he, Harry, could not mistake for malice or contempt.

Was it possible that perhaps in some other life...there existed such a person that could both love and be loved by him in return?

It was a difficult thought. Dumbledore had said after all that it was impossible for him-but then Dumbledore was only human, and could make mistakes like any other man. And wasn't it what he had always insisted, that of all things, _love_ was truly the most powerful sort of magic in the world? If love was strong enough to had once destroyed the enemy, then could it be possible for it to change the same man beyond recognition?

Harry did not know. But it was rapidly becoming clear to him now that if he had done what he had intended to do...he would be no better than him.

Love.

A terrible power. A beautiful curse.

Love changed things. Even now, Harry could not bring himself to find them, to attack him. He thought of the way the girl had tipped her head back to look at him, like a sunflower turning its face up to the sun. He thought of Ginny and how although the two were so different they somehow held an inexplicable similarity. It was the fierceness in her eyes, he supposed, a hard blazing expression that had shone through and had been equally and brutally returned by her frightening partner.

Could he destroy the happiness of another?

He sighed. He remembered that his wife was waiting for him, and so were the friends that had stood by his side through all these years. He remembered that war was finished, and that the time for peace had finally arrived. He raised a hand in an old reflex to the lightning scar that no longer pained him.

He thought of Ginny again. He thought of the girl that seemed to love Tom Riddle.

And despite himself, despite the uncertain future that lay before them, he smiled because he knew that in that moment, all was well.

The End

**A/N: Again, thank you all so much for reading this story. I guess the only thing I'd like to add in my (final) author's note is that when I look back on earlier chapters from three years ago I cringe so bad…but honestly, I don't think I'll change them. Because I thought it was interesting to see how my writing sort of matured, I suppose, along with my characters. For example, at the beginning, I think now that Ari was quite rash and reckless but then towards the end, as she takes on all these responsibilities and cares and fears she becomes a little more serious and less immature. And growing up writing this story throughout all my high school years and even now, just starting college…it's kind of silly, but I just feel like I grew up with the characters as well. Although I'm not entirely sure about the 'maturation' part, haha…**

**This was the first, multi chaptered story I've ever finished, as well as the first romance story. I really, really fell hard for all of the characters here and I suppose if I continue writing, this will always be the story I'll remember. **

**So, thank you, thank you all. Take care, be safe and thank you once more for joining me on this amazing ride.**

**UrbanRosefall**


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